Hearts Stand Still
by Eiruiel
Summary: Against a backdrop of bloody violence, a young Leaf kunoichi lives her life in chase of those strange, painful threads called hope. —Or, Suzu Namikaze puts the finishing touches on her novel's new manuscript and sends it to Jiraiya of the Sannin for perusal. / OC-insert. Previously known as Glory Rewritten.
1. The Beginning of a New Story

**Published: 6/3/2016**

 **Edited: 8/13/2018**

* * *

 _Dear Jiraiya-sama,_

 _Here it is, as polished as I can make it. I looked at all of your editorial comments and I've fixed the most egregious errors. It's not perfect, but I doubt it ever will be._

 _Tell me when you're free and we'll set up a date to go through the parts that need cuts and censoring._

 _Thanks for your hard work!_

 _Suzu_

* * *

HEARTS STAND STILL

 _by_ Misuzu Namikaze

* * *

to YOSHIYA MIYAZAWA

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

* * *

I blinked awake into hazy, sticky summer heat. The grass in front of me was wavering, distorted by the scorching sun, and all at once I became aware of the sweat on my neck, of my skin sticking to the wood of the veranda, of the cloth on my back clinging damply to my shoulders…

There were several blond children playing in the yard in front of me, standing in a circle. They were kicking a—it was not a shuttlecock, not quite, but a feathered something that flew in long, high arcs when they hit it back and forth among themselves. Despite the punishing heat, they seemed to be enjoying themselves. I spent a few blank minutes staring at them, bewildered.

Where… was I?

Slowly, I turned my head through the hot, stagnant air and looked over my shoulder. The room behind me was utterly foreign. The furniture was small; the sitting room behind me had sitting cushions cast about a low-to-the-ground table; there was a long painted scroll on the wall. A woman was sitting on the floor there, cooing and tickling the tummies of a pair of infants, and a man was beside her, absently patting the behind of the baby on his shoulder.

I stared blankly at them, too. Like the children in the yard, they were blond, and when they turned their heads to look at me, I could see that they both had blue eyes. They murmured to each other for a moment, and though the language they spoke in seemed like gibberish, it was somehow completely comprehensible at the same time.

The man handed his baby to the woman and then got up and came over to me. "A summer fever?" he asked speculatively, kneeling down and putting a hand on my forehead. Japanese, I realized after a moment. He was speaking Japanese.

"Just overheating, maybe," the woman proposed from across the way. The man hummed and stood up again, disappearing through a through a door off to our right before returning with a glass of water and a plastic baggie full of ice. He handed me the water before crouching down next to me and pressing the ice to the back of my neck. I held in a yelp.

"You're quiet today, Suzu," he commented as he peered at me through the sides of his eyeglasses. I fidgeted silently. He was, I observed, not particularly ugly or handsome. His hair was cut short and his chin was sharp... but what stood out most about him, I soon decided, was his even-sharper gaze. I knew right away that I was looking at an extremely intelligent man.

"Sorry?" I squeaked, a little intimidated. He gave me a strange look, as if to wonder what in the world I had to fear from him.

"Did you break something?" he asked me, eyebrows rising. Quite suddenly, my moment of quiet terror was mowed over by a swell of indignation.

"I did not!" I found myself protesting hotly, feeling at once both offended and oddly petulant.

"Hm," the man said, and eyed me for a puzzled moment before shrugging. The flash of anger passed as quickly as it came, and then I was left to sit there with his hand holding ice on the back of my neck, blinking through the sudden whirlwind of emotions that had just torn through me.

It was at that point that I realized something was wrong. Something about that angry reaction was… peculiar. Something about the feel of my own skin was strange. Something about this house of full of blond-haired, blue-eyed, Japanese strangers was...

"I'm home," a voice called from the doorway.

Both the woman and the man perked up, and I turned my head just in time to catch sight of a teenager walking in. As he was shedding a green vest and dropping it over the back of a chair, my brain lit up with recognition, and then one half of me was jerking up into a standing position and making to run forward. The other half was dropping its jaw in incredulity.

Was that… Minato Namikaze?

Though it was still somewhat rounded with youth, his face was undeniably the face of Naruto's father. His hair was as spiky as it had been in the drawings, too. It would have been utterly bizarre had it not looked so unnaturally... natural. He glanced at me smiled.

The second shock of the day came then, because he came over, crouched, and hoisted me up onto his hip. "Hey, Suzu," he said fondly as he ruffled my hair with one hand. "How're you today? You look a little flushed."

"Think she's just feeling a bit hot," the man with the ice said as I hung limply in Minato Namikaze's arms, shocked. I had just been picked up. Picked up and put on a hip, like a child.

No, I realized as I looked down at my hand and saw five short, skinny digits sprouting from a tiny palm. It was not that I was like a child. I _was_ a child.

"Suzu?" Minato asked concernedly when I found myself suddenly have to put my head down on his shoulder, feeling very dizzy and disoriented. "Suzu—ojisan? Uncle Souhei, I think there's something wrong with—"

* * *

Misuzu Namikaze was a five-year-old orphan who had been born in Konohagakure no Sato and raised by Reiko and Souhei of the Namikaze clan. Alongside about twelve other parentless children, she lived in a large but old traditional Japanese home referred to by the members of her clan as "the House." Among the orphans she lived with was also the sixteen-year-old Minato Namikaze, a newly-minted jounin and the future Yondaime Hokage.

Suzu enjoyed a fairly normal, if not somewhat riotous, home life. She had a great many playmates and she got on well with all the ones who were her age. She was also a fairly athletic child, though that seemed to be par for the course with most of the people around here. She was due to start schooling at the Ninja Academy with her three cousins Chiharu, Jinta, and Akira next year in April, and was currently receiving some basic, preliminary education from her caretakers.

I discovered all of this through context and several carefully-disguised questions after awakening upstairs in the girls' room. I had, apparently, passed out due to heat exhaustion while being carried by my Minato-niichan. As I'm sure it can be imagined, I was not terribly serene when the picture came together, but I managed to keep a lid on everything until I'd found a suitably private place to freak out.

Surreal was the only word to describe it. The plot of the popular anime _Naruto_ was clear in my mind, and it was unmistakable that I was in Konoha right now; a trip to the front yard and a look at the mountains was enough to confirm that. But what in the world did it mean? What does one do when presented with this sort of situation? The people living here were all incredibly real. They talked, they walked, they ate, they sweated, they chuckled and snorted and argued... they were alive, like any normal people. To call them imaginary or fiction would be laughable. They were just that existent.

So was I in a story right now? Or perhaps more to the point—did it _matter_?

I quickly came to the conclusion that it didn't. One day among the inhabitants of the House had me realizing that I was very much in love with Suzu Namikaze's family. The reverse was true, too; she was one among many, but she was still a greatly cherished child. During her convalescence she was lavished with attention from all directions. Her cousins hung around her and played games with her and kept her company; Reiko made her favorite pork potstickers for dinner to cheer her up after her illness; she even got to share a secret popsicle with Souhei when everyone else went outside into the searing summer heat.

It wasn't long, of course, before I discovered that this kind of home environment was so rare that it might have been the one of the only ones existent within all of Konoha's ninja population. The people of the Namikaze clan's House were probably the most functional family a child without a civilian background could ever hope for. The orphans here were very well-adjusted.

In that vein, I found that life had become shockingly enjoyable. Somehow the games of hide-and-seek and tag and jump rope were even more magical than they ever had been; there were some mornings that I was so eager to start games of kebane and double Dutch that I would be tempted to throw tantrums if I was forced to brush my teeth and dress myself before I was allowed to run down to the yard with my cousins.

It was fun, I admit, but it made me confused, too. Somehow it seemed to me that I was too old for these sorts of things. Adults didn't do that sort of thing, and I was an adult, wasn't I? Even if my body didn't match up with that, I had such vivid memories of being taller and moving about life as a grown woman. I couldn't be a child.

But that vein of thought quickly fell away. The realization came on the day of my sixth birthday, when I had squealed and jumped and trembled with so much excitement that I thought my very heart would burst with anticipation. Regardless of the odd dissonance now ringing in my head, I _was_ a child. I was Suzu Namikaze, age six. That was my name and this was my life. The games, the giggles, the excitement—that was just me being me. A kid. A little girl.

And that, I realized, was okay. The more I thought about them, the more memories of the place called Earth seemed foreign and faraway. Whatever happened in them was different from what was happening now, and the now was full of joy. The food, though plain, was good, and the games were always going. There was no shortage of friends to play with, and there was plenty of affection to go around. Poor, but happy: that was us, the people of the Namikaze clan's House.

Of course, if I had thought on those memories a little harder, I might have realized that these days would end. I would have tried a little harder to reach for a civilian life. Instead of rushing into the wondrous world of ninjas, I could have concerned myself with other things. Instead thinking about what career path I could take to become a jounin, I could have focused on what sort other jobs I might enjoy, what sort of man I'd like to marry, and what kind of family I'd like to have... Even if I did go to ninja school, it would have been easy to end my journey as a shinobi there. After all, plenty of Konoha's citizens attended the Academy, enjoyed brief stints as genin and chuunin, and then retired to live regular lives. I could have done the same, and then settled down to work down at Hisame-jii's kimono shop, where I would become a reputable seamstress, meet a nice man, get married...

Such a life would have been in my reach if I had only been of the mind to grasp for it. But I didn't.

Why? Well, if I were to name the root cause, I'd probably call it Minato Namikaze.

* * *

Concentrated hero worship: that was what Minato usually came home to. It was hardly unexpected; never minding the fact that most of the clan already considered him a star—he was, after all, the youngest jounin the Namikaze had ever produced—we idolized him enough just by his merits as an older brother. He was an excellent playmate, capable of fulfilling all roles: epic hero, evil villain, knight in shining armor, hostage, comrade… one only had to name his job and he would execute it with aplomb. He also brought us souvenirs from his missions: specialty candy from castle towns, pretty seashells from the coast, and whatever other little trinkets he picked up during his travels. He thought of us often and always had a little something for everyone.

After I grew up a bit and learned just how much work it is being a jounin, it was plain to see that Minato spent an inappropriately large amount of time with us as children. Between missions, training, fuuinjutsu studies, jutsu invention, and a serious relationship with his then-girlfriend, it was a wonder that his health had held up. When had he even had the time to sleep? But as a child, I never knew. All I knew, really, was that he was amazing and I wanted to be exactly like him: cool, smart, and a great ninja.

Oh, how foolish it was to think that I had needed to become Minato. He was just as tired and troubled as anyone; no one lived the squeaky-clean, picture-perfect life I had thought he lived. That was another lesson I could have avoided learning the hard way if only I'd stopped to consider the experiences that had been given to me. After all, it wasn't every day that a child had the autobiography of a grown woman imprinted directly into her brain. If I'd used just a little bit of that information—just thought a little bit more from that adult's perspective—things surely would have gone another way.

But perhaps it didn't matter. Being a kid here wasn't like being a kid there. There, being a kid meant being part of a special, protected class. Here, it meant nothing—not anything beyond having shorter limbs and less experience, anyway. Anyone old enough to hold a knife and point it at the enemy was old enough to be a killer, and in those days, the village wanted a _lot_ of them. Their ninjas were expiring quicker than they were being produced, and Konoha needed replacements, fast. With no option of a draft—adult civilians just couldn't be put on par with ninjas who had been trained from childhood—we were the next best option.

Things were not as they should have been, I know. We had been at war, and it had been no petty conflict. That war had been a great war; the third installment of _The_ Wars, as history would have it. And it had been one of unprecedented attrition, one that had plummeted Konoha's military power into an all-time low... it had had the village administration shoving children through the Academy as fast as they could go, crossing their fingers and hoping that something would stick, before throwing them out onto the battlefield with little else more than a prayer.

How much cannon fodder had been consumed in that conflict? "Too much" would probably be a good answer. The number of shinobi left in my generation is tiny. Entire family lines ended in my childhood—that is how badly we were decimated.

We were never told much of that sad reality, though. Our enemies weren't going anywhere, and neither was the war. Even if it would only add to the death tolls, there was nothing to do but prettify the carnage and slog on. What could the previous generation have done besides march on through the violence, consoling its children with heroic fantasies and dreams of glorious, honorable deaths on the battlefield? If there had been a path to peace, they'd been too blinded by the never-ending veil of bloodshed to see it. Stopping the fight only meant losing those children they were trying protect.

So they kept telling their legends, and we listened. Unlike Naruto, no one had been there to stop us from declaring that we wanted our names on the Memorial Stone. No one was there to stop our dreams from becoming reality, either.

I never dreamed that my friends or I would ever come to real harm. With Minato as an example, it was easy to believe we could breeze through our ninja careers without suffering more than a concussion or two. He never got hurt beyond a few cuts and bruises, after all; why would we believe things would go differently for us? He didn't, so we didn't. None of us stopped to think of how he suffered behind the scenes, hiding the worst of his injuries from us, or of the comrades that he silently endured losing, or of blood on his hands and the lives resting on his shoulders. No one considered the sleepless nights he spent thinking about them all.

* * *

I went into the Academy with a head full of dreams. My objective was set: Minato would be my goal. As the man himself, he encouraged us sportingly, just as an upright jounin burning with the Will of Fire should have. As expected of him, really. He was the very picture of a reliable Leaf shinobi.

Despite my idyllic imaginings, though, I hit my first snag right away: my cousins and I were sorted into different classes. This caused me considerable apprehension. While I wasn't totally socially inept, I was not a particularly gregarious person. Even the adult I could now remember being had not been terribly skilled in the art of making friends, either.

I did not quite cry—though, with goading, I do confess to a few anxious sniffles—and my cousins didn't _really_ go out of their way to give me hugs and assure me they would find me at recesses, but that was how the chips fell. For better or for worse, though, I wasn't disillusioned with my choices right away. As it so happened, on the first day of class, I ended up being seated next to the boy who would eventually become one of the best friends of my life.

Akihiko Namikaze was his name. Because we were from the same clan, we were related, but rather distantly; we called each other cousins, but in reality we would probably have to go back several generations to find our common ancestor. Unlike me, he _was_ gregarious. Outgoing, cheerful, friendly… for him, just being deskmates was cause enough to declare me a super best friend. And, as far as I could tell, that was a relatively high office. Endowed with such a position, there was only about one other person that could beat me out in terms of ranking.

I met that person right away, since he was sitting on Akihiko's other side. He was called Yoshiya Miyazawa; or, rather, "super most _besterest_ friend." Because their fathers had been on a team together, he and Akihiko had known each other since infancy, and they had spent many an afternoon together as playmates. Despite their avowed most besterest friendness, though, theirs was a vitriolic friendship. In fact, if they hadn't introduced themselves as friends to me, I might've mistaken them for vicious rivals. They were constantly competing and trying to trip each other up—figuratively and literally—and they insulted each other incessantly, as though it were as necessary as breathing. It was a decidedly odd relationship.

Yoshiya was thoroughly unlike Akihiko. Never minding their wildly contrary sartorial sense—where Akihiko tended to wear blindly bright red shirts, Yoshiya often dressed in greens and browns and blacks—their personalities were utterly dissimilar. Akihiko was gregarious, but Yoshiya was taciturn and aloof. When I had introduced myself to him, he had only crossed his arms, curtly replied with his name, and ignored my attempt at a handshake. It was only a little mortifying; he had given everyone who had greeted him the same treatment. It seemed like he was just that kind of person, which made me wonder how an agreeable boy like Akihiko got on with such an unpleasant character.

Well, that was my first impression. But then Akihiko laughed and smacked him on the back—probably a lot harder than was warranted—and said, "You don't have to act tough. It's safe! She's friends with me now."

Yoshiya's cheeks tinted pink. "I'm not acting tough," he mumbled, looking away and seeming to shrink in on himself. Suddenly, he seemed a lot less like an Uchiha-tier snob and more like a timid kitten.

"You're _shy_ ," I realized, enlightened, as the pieces came together in my head. Well, that made sense. I had memories of affecting the demeanor of a frigid bitch to ward away strangers, too.

"He is!" Akihiko laughed again and jabbed his friend in the ribs. "He's been putting on this show all day! His dad told him all he had to do was pretend he wasn't nervous, but even though he practiced for a whole month, he's still trying to scare away as many people as possible. Isn't he hilarious?"

Yoshiya scowled furiously and batted his hand away. "Watch what you say to people, moron!" he hissed as he went from pink to red. "This is why you're an idiot."

"You wanna start something?" Akihiko quickly shot back and got to his feet. Yoshiya rose too, glowering with arms crossed.

I thought they might get into a fistfight—Akihiko, I soon discovered, was always ready to test his mettle in a good, old-fashioned slugfest—but Yoshiya eventually turned up his nose and hmmpthed like he was a prince.

"I won't waste my time with the likes you," he declared loftily, in the manner of someone mimicking a line from a book or a TV show.

"You're just scared that you'll lose like you always do," Akihiko smugly replied. "No matter how many clones you can make or henges you can do, after all, _I_ can still put my fist in your face."

Yoshiya looked away and sniffed derisively in reply.

* * *

Observing my new friends at the Academy became my most fascinating pastime. Though I enjoyed the physical component of our education quite a bit—in the Earth-memories I distinctly recalled being ill in a way that prevented me from most strenuous activity, but as myself I could somehow run and stretch and jump like I never had before, and it was exhilarating—I found the rest of our work rather unstimulating. Writing and reading comprehension were interesting to me, but the math worksheets, logic puzzles, and coloring exercises became very stale very early on. Even chakra class, which should have been perhaps the most exciting part of the Academy, was horrifically boring; because we were still young, we mostly spent our time sitting around meditating.

I won't claim to be an ultra-disciplined warrior monk, and I won't say that I never fidgeted or had to deal with a lot of pent-up, childish energy, but due to the nature of my double-layered consciousnesses I was leagues ahead of my peers in matters of mental focus. That is, I was capable of sitting still and thinking for more than fifteen minutes at a stretch. When I could, I worked ahead in my Japanese book—memorizing kanji, practicing my handwriting, expanding my vocabulary—but in hindsight that was a foolish choice. I pulled so far ahead in my studies that I succeeded in making Japanese class boring, too.

Consequently, I spent a lot of time watching Akihiko and Yoshiya to fill the empty hours. Despite Yoshiya's insistence to the contrary—his choice appellations for Akihiko consisted mostly of variations on descriptors like "stupid" and "muscle-headed"—Akihiko was very intelligent. He didn't give two hoots about jutsu theory or chakra studies, but he loved dissecting historical battles and war tactics. He seemed to have a natural aptitude for strategy, and he probably would have slayed in shogi or go if he had ever bothered to learn. And as for Yoshiya, he bore no resemblance to the wimpish milksop that Akihiko proclaimed him to be. True, he was no good for winning taijutsu bouts—the instructors frequently criticized his weak strikes and sloppy form—but even if he never got the final blow, he could dance in circles around his opponents, sometimes even to point that they would defeat themselves. He was quick, clever, and skilled in misdirection; combined with an unexpectedly high amount of endurance, he often won matches through sheer attrition alone.

They built on one another, I concluded after the first couple weeks of studying their interactions. The prodded and goaded and fueled each other to try harder, to keep training, and to do better; their competition spurred their growth. They _were_ rivals, and because they had had each other since the days of their birth, their development had had a huge jumpstart.

Had that been done intentionally? Their fathers had been been friends, so it wasn't unexpected for them to have their sons interact, but was there more to it? Their fathers were also shinobi. Had they been making a concerted effort to raise prodigy children?

I considered it. It was plausible. The culture of this place was one very much entrenched in the concept of "might makes right." Any parent would want to equip his child with shinobi prowess in a world like this one. But if that were the case… did that mean Akihiko and Yoshiya were bred to become killers from the moments they were born?

Their parents might not have even realized they were doing it. They'd probably just assumed—and rightly so—that their kids would be shinobi. It was what everyone expected, and it was why I was here too: every adult had encouraged me and my cousins to grow up and become fine ninjas. They were just trying to give their children the skills they needed to survive. Besides, who didn't want to be the parent of a genius child? Raising a fine shinobi was nearly as honorable as being a fine shinobi oneself.

I didn't follow that thread of logic to its conclusion—perhaps on a subconscious level I didn't want to—and that was maybe one of the things I regretted the most about my childhood.

It was not the last time I would let myself be taken in by the heroic fantasies.

* * *

A/N: (1) "kebane": the Japanese equivalent of the Chinese jianzi, which was historically used in military exercises. These days it's a common game played among East Asian children. It is somewhat similar to a hacky sack.

.

Welcome to the rewrite! I wonder how many of you actually knew this was happening. I announced it on my profile, but the news didn't really spread. If you follow any of my stories, you should check it out if you get curious about their statuses. I usually have something up if there's something going on.

Anyway, I'm very excited to finally have this underway. There are going to be definite, significant changes to both characters and plot, and I think it's for the better. I hope you'll all enjoy it as much as I do.

Thanks for sticking with me so far, guys! I can't wait to start hearing from you all again. It always made me so excited to see feedback from you all ;).

Cheers,

Eiruiel


	2. Little Eternity

**Published: 6/7/2016**

 **Edited: 4/16/2017**

* * *

 _Dear Suzu,_

 _I'm afraid we won't be able to meet up for a while, kiddo. I'm currently sending this to you from out of the country. Something's stirring down south, and I've been asked to look into it. If it's true,_ _we_ _need to keep a careful eye on it_ — _we_ _don't need any enemies setting up shop in our neighborhood. I'll be investigating thoroughly, so I expect to be away from the village for some while._

 _Sorry about this. While I'm gone, start thinking up names. I can tell you without even reviewing the manuscript that all of our names will have to change_ — _mine, yours, Minato's, everyone's. Start editing what you can now so we'll be farther along when we finally do meet up._

 _Until then._

 _Your friend,_

 _Jiraiya_

* * *

I did very well in the Academy. The schoolwork of a six-year-old child, even a ninja child, was laughably easy when armed with the memories of two decades' schooling; and as for my performance in PE, it was excellent. I was an active child with unfairly well-developed mental acuity, so I improved at an exceptional pace. It wasn't long before there was talk of skipping grades.

I didn't realize it back then, but with the perspective I have now I rather firmly believe that proposition had been my first encounter with death. Skipping grades, after all, meant an earlier graduation, and an earlier graduation meant an earlier deployment. Fortunately, Auntie Reiko and Uncle Souhei—possibly hoping that the intervening years might bring the war to an end—cited concerns about removing me from my age group and declined moving me ahead. They caught a lot of flak for it, but they held firm in their decision.

At the time I didn't give much thought to their choice, though I was glad I wouldn't be separated from the friends I had blessedly been able to make. Now, though, I sometimes find myself wondering what sort of grisly death I would have died if they hadn't held me back. I barely survived coming out of the Academy at age nine. Seven or eight would have seen me killed for sure. After all, great potential—which is what I suppose the instructors must have seen in me—did not automatically guarantee great skill. I was good, but even at that age Akihiko and Yoshiya had outshone me in their fields of expertise.

I learned a lot from them both. Yoshiya was an invaluable resource; he was one of the few people who were willing teach a six-year-old how to mold chakra. He was perfectly capable of using chakra himself, so despite the dire warnings issued about the potentially lethal consequences of trying to access it before we were ready, he had no issues with instructing someone he thought could handle it. He ignored the standard Academy explanation of physical and spiritual energy and instead offered me this advice:

"Chakra is something that can only be created with balance. People who aren't well-rounded are useless at using it. It takes both physical and spiritual health. Chakra with different ratios of energy can be made and can have useful properties, but unless you master both sides of it, you'll never be able to use it right."

He might have only been parroting someone else's words—and I suspected he was, because prodigious though he was, he was _six_ —but he sounded very sage.

"I think you'll manage pretty well, since you get good grades all around," Yoshiya mused. He didn't know about my offer to skip grades, so I refrained from making an ironic comment. "You might even have larger reserves than me. You're better at taijutsu, so your physical energy doesn't cap you at the same point mine does." He grinned crookedly. "Bet you my control's better, though."

Cheeky. I didn't have anything to reply with, though, so he went on and explained how to meditate on the hara, the center of the body's chakra network, and how to manipulate the energy there. It was an odd feeling—like flexing a muscle that I hadn't known existed—but when I pushed the energies together warmth welled up within me. For a brief moment, it swirled in my stomach before it leaked away, draining in all directions. A buzzing sensation fizzled out just beneath my skin, and for a moment, I thought I could feel something in the air around me.

"So?" Yoshiya asked expectantly as I blinked through the odd sensation. As soon as it was there, though, it was gone; everything cleared away until the empty classroom felt just the same as it always had.

"...It went away," I said after a moment, dropping the tiger seal from my hands and looking down at my stomach.

"The chakra? It's probably because you didn't direct it," Yoshiya figured. He reached behind him and snagged a blank piece of paper off the desk. He ripped a piece off and handed it to me. "Here, use this. If you mold your chakra and send it up to your forehead, the paper will stick. It's the first exercise Dad ever taught me."

"Send it up to my forehead?" I repeated. That did sound familiar. "How do I do that?"

"You close the tenketsu you don't need," Yoshiya replied. "Most people can't intentionally put out chakra through tenketsu that aren't in the hands or feet, but they still bleed chakra if you leave them open. But if you close the right ones the chakra naturally flows where you want it to go."

"Close the tenketsu?" I considered this, and sat still for a moment. I tried molding chakra once more; warmth swelled up within me, easier and a little faster this time. I focused on it, and there was silence.

Yoshiya looked at me intently.

"...Um, how do I close the tenketsu?" I asked as the chakra spilled everywhere again, dissipating.

Yoshiya looked puzzled. "You close them," he said, as if wondering what else there was to say. I sent him a blank look; he responded in kind.

In that moment, I understood that some people were born with perfect chakra control in the same way that some people were born with perfect pitch. That was probably as far as I was going to get with Yoshiya today. I would just have to practice and find out the rest for myself.

Yoshiya wasn't the only one helping me improve, though. In fact, though Yoshiya was talented enough to already know all three of the Academy's signature ninjutsu, his skill level with chakra was so far above mine that we reached a fundamental disconnect whenever he tried teaching me beyond a certain point. Contrarily, I was _good_ at physical activity, so Akihiko was able to share a lot of his wisdom about our clan's taijutsu style, Hurricane Gale, with me.

In polite speech, one might say the Namikaze clan was made mostly of slender, shortish people with small builds and low punching power. If not going out of the way to be nice, however, it sufficed to say that were made like toothpicks and we weighed next to nothing. Hurricane Gale, consequently, was a very non-confrontational style that relied on redirection and torque for its strikes. Emphasis on kicking attacks and leg-work was heavy; even our men had somewhat below-average upper body strength, so we drew power from the hips instead. We were also the type that flew—soared, really—when we got hit, so learning how to roll and fall was pretty much the only thing one did when learning in the first tier.

I was still in the first tier, and most of my offensive techniques were basic, Academy-standard attacks. Akihiko, however, was learning from the _fourth_ —something that would have been unprecedented had he not been born after Minato—and he delighted in sharing his martial knowledge with me. I think he might have been trying to groom a better sparring partner for himself. Yoshiya, in the words of Akihiko, was good for agility training but useless for practicing almost anything else with. He held nothing back when I asked for tips.

With both of their help, I became a lot more comfortable in my own skin. My sense of space improved drastically in those first few months, and with Yoshiya's paper-improvised leaf-sticking exercise, I was also able to occupy myself during my lessons in a non-disruptive way. I grew a lot as a shinobi just by being around those two. They were unnaturally talented.

The Academy teachers noticed this—noticed in general that the three of us were developing very well—and they kept us lumped together as often as possible. It was a brand of favoritism that was, in hindsight, extremely damaging to the other students. The Academy instructors locked themselves into a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy because of it: they knew that a majority of us would die before our careers would really even start, and as a consequence, they tended to pool their energies on the select few they figured would probably make it. The other children's instruction suffered for it, and because they ended up leaving the Academy with educations that were only half-done, they died right away if they were put into battle. It was only later on during the post-war reforms that the practice of balancing teams—that is, practices like propping up the dead-lasts with the top-ranked graduates—was implemented.

As it was, the three of us received a lot of extra attention. In class spars and other group activities our instructor would only make a short pretense of monitoring the other students before he dedicated the rest of his time to hovering over us and providing as much feedback for improvement as possible. After school hours, Akihiko monopolized the teacher's time by requesting as many spars as he could give him, and Yoshiya was forever begging instruction in advanced jutsu off of whatever sensei he could find. As for me, I was allowed to sit with the older years for the after-school kuniochi course, which was specifically geared for teaching young girls the ninja techniques that boys weren't usually called upon to put into practice.

These lessons were easily my favorite part of the Academy. We learned acting techniques, accents, forgery, different styles of flirting, and even singing and dancing. Generally the classes were regarded as superfluous—if it hadn't been wartime, Infiltration and Espionage would have used them to scout out good future spies, but alas—because the fighting had long since progressed past the point of spying and was now firmly entrenched in gritty, open combat. The kunoichi course wasn't shut down, though, because above all that extra "junk," the teachers provided us with a lot of tips and practical advice about being females in a world of male shinobi. It ranged from basic things like how to handle unwanted advances from clients and comrades to things I had never even considered, like the making and application of a seal that concealed the scent of menstrual blood from trackers. They also warned us about the difficulties we would face due to our gender; first and foremost among them was the fact that we would, plainly, stand out.

"When you're young in particular, enemies will look to make you targets right away," Erina-sensei cautioned us. "They do it for a lot of reasons. Taijutsu specialists will make a point of focusing you down on the battlefield because they know they have the upper hand in physical strength. Because a lot of us girls tend to be gen-, nin-, and iryou-ninjutsu users, enemies will also generally try to take us out right away so they can eliminate our ability to recover the wounded while simultaneously shutting down as much of the potential area-of-effect damage as possible. In interrogation we often bear the brunt of the questioning because they try to take advantage of our naturally high empathy, and in a similar vein, they always target the kunoichi first when trying to extract intel through torture." Erina-sensei let out a short sigh. "They usually try softer approaches first if you're caught alone, but if you happen to be captured alongside your squad, there are generally two routes that those situations take.

"The first route goes like this: if they know that it's likely you have the information they want, they hurt your teammates and demand you give up what you know if you want to ease their suffering; this is one of the methods of exploiting empathy that I mentioned earlier. The second route, though, is the one where _you_ are tortured. It's generally agreed amongst ninjas that females tend to have a lower pain tolerance than men, at least in matters of sudden acute pain. It has a lot to do with the cyclic nature of the concentration of hormones in our bodies, but that's an explanation for another time. What really matters is that enemies will try to take advantage of this. It takes less work to bring us to an extreme point of suffering, so it makes us more vulnerable."

"You tend to have higher-pitched voices, too," the lone male chuunin-sensei who had been sitting at his desk in the corner put in quietly, with eyes cast down at the papers before him. "You tend to have more piercing screams…" His pen went still. "...It has a bad effect on your comrades, if they hear it."

We turned to look at him, but he added nothing else and seemed to refocus on his work. Erina-sensei let out another sigh.

"And there's that, too," she said. "You might not be able to manage it if it comes down it, but if you think you can keep yourself stoic, you might be able to help your allies hold out. Do your best, if you find yourself in that situation someday."

The rest of the lesson lingered on unpleasant scenarios. We were instructed on the protocol for handling cases of rape and sexual abuse, and of the various counselling services available to us if we ever found ourselves in need of them. We were also warned that psych evaluations were frequent and standard, and that it was in our best interest to seek help when it was required. Those types of issues tended to get worse before they got better, Erina-sensei informed, so it would come out sooner or later—best to get it squared away before it became too hard to handle.

Speaking now again with an older and somewhat more experienced perspective, I can say that while this was true, to an extent, things were not necessarily as stringent as Erina-sensei had made them out to be. What the village administration tended to deem as an "acceptable" threshold of mental imbalance was uncomfortably high. Ninjas often acquired some very quirky habits as part of their coping mechanisms, I knew, and because of that some leeway was called for in evaluations, but the practice of deploying shinobi even if they displayed troubling tendencies was disturbingly common.

Though Akihiko—and occasionally Yoshiya—usually walked home with me, the class ran late that day, and both of them had already left by the time I was let out. I trudged back to the House on my own, quietly kicking pebbles as I went.

* * *

Surprisingly, Minato was home when I made it back to the House. He had been assigned an apprentice recently—an antisocial apprentice who had declined every one of Minato's invitations to dinner—and had, consequently, begun leaving earlier in the morning and staying out later at night to fit in all of his usual training. We children were usually forced into bed long before he made it back home, so it was a rare treat to see him these days.

He was sitting at the coffee table in the sitting room with fuuinjutsu supplies scattered all about him. That probably explained why he didn't have a crowd of six-year-olds crawling all over him; we usually knew better than to bother him while he was working on his seals. Still, I couldn't help but tip-toe quietly over and try to peek over his shoulder.

Minato leaned to the side accommodatingly, giving me a glimpse of some incredibly complex kanji, and I eeped before realizing that of course he knew I was here. Even if he had managed to not hear me, after all, he would still have been able to sense me. He wasn't just a jounin; he was a sensor, too.

"I thought it was you, Suzu," Minato said warmly when he turned his head and saw my face. "Your chakra seems to be becoming distinct lately."

That was probably because I'd been practicing the paper-sticking exercise a lot. Perhaps it was making my reserves grow. I nodded a little jerkily, shuffling my feet and twisting my fingers together.

"What, are you being shy today?" Minato teased and poked me in the stomach. I squeaked, found myself falling over onto the floor, and was subjected to a few seconds of affectionate tickling.

"Ah, it's good to be at home," he sighed happily after I'd managed to squirm my way out of his grasp. He let himself fall onto his back next to me. "My student—his name is Kakashi, by the way—is a handful, you know. He's only a little older than you, but I doubt he'd appreciate it if I tried tickling him."

I burst into giggles just at the thought of it. Imagine that, proud and haughty Kakashi Hatake in a tickle fight on the floor. Minato rolled onto his stomach and grinned at me.

Seeing an opportunity for revenge, I darted a hand out and aimed for his side. Starting, Minato jerked away and out of reach. His heel hit the table, making it—and everything on it—rattle.

"Oops," he laughed after he'd whipped back up into a sitting position and made sure he hadn't sent ink flying everywhere. He glanced back at me and scratched the back of his head. "You've gotten pretty quick, Suzu! You startled me."

"Sorry," I said, wide-eyed, as I scrambled to my feet to see if I had screwed up whatever it was he had been working on.

"It's fine," he assured me when I paled, seeing that his brush had rolled over the sheet, leaving a black smear. "I didn't have anything important out—I was only practicing."

"Practicing?" I looked at the paper. It wasn't a scroll; it was a large sheet of washi paper printed with a grid pattern, and each of the boxes had a kanji painted in it. All of them were crazily complex, with probably at least twenty strokes each, and I couldn't read a single one of them.

"Yup, practicing." Minato nodded as he cleared away the mess, picked up the brush, folded the ruined sheet, and got out a new one. "Nothing's more important in sealing than a steady hand."

I oohed appropriately as he deftly wrote out another block of lines. I still couldn't read it, but it had the fire radical. Explosion?

"Want to try?" he asked. I glanced at the mess of lines he had just drawn and gave him a doubtful look. He laughed; then he painted a simpler kanji. I still couldn't read it, though. It looked like water, but it had a dot and an extra hook on it.

"Eternity," Minato supplied. "That's the eternity in 'perpetuity,' if you know it. The kun-yomi is _nagai_ , and the on-yomi is _ei_. It's a great practice character because it has all the basic brush movements in it."

Hesitantly, I took the brush when he offered it to me, and he let me sit on his lap so I could reach the table.

"The brush movements are what give the character its shape," Minato murmured as he put his hand over mine and drew the kanji out again. "Like that. Think you can do it?"

Holding a brush was nothing like holding a pen. It had to be held perpendicular to the paper, which resulted in a wrist bent at a decidedly uncomfortable angle. My hand trembled uncontrollably when I put tip to paper, so my dot came out looking like a blob, and the line I drew looked like a portion of a sideways EKG. When I finished, the kanji looked like less of a character and more of a disfigured monstrosity.

"Aww," Minato laughed as I began turning beet red. "Don't worry, Suzu, that's normal. It's hard, right? That's why you need practice. I shook like crazy when I first started out, too."

"Draw it again?" I requested before pursing my lips. Minato obliged, plucking the brush from my hand and painting out another pretty eternity. I observed him carefully, taking note of the places where he slowed down or rotated his wrist. I probably had him fill a whole row himself before I tried again.

"Oh, that's not bad," Minato complimented my second try. Next to his perfectly portioned writing, the round, bulky corners and too-fat lines of my character still seemed pretty awful, but it was at least more legible than my first attempt had been.

I ended up finishing off the rest of the practice sheet, though I had him write again every couple of tries to make sure I was getting the right idea. By the time I had reached the end, Minato looked a little impressed. He pulled out a thinner brush, dipped it in the ink, and circled a few of my last attempts.

"These ones have good motion," he told me with a little look of pleasure. "Aim for something like this when you try again. These are pretty good for a novice."

"Really?" I wondered as I glanced between one of his characters and mine.

"I'd say so." He smiled at me. "You may have some talent for this, Suzu!"

Talent, huh? When I made myself recall the things of Earth, I did often find memories practicing the arts. A lot of the focus had been in music, but a fair chunk of time had been drawing and painting, too. Perhaps those remembered moments were enough to give me a bit of an edge in calligraphy.

"Here, you should keep this." Minato picked up the paper and waved it a few times to dry it; then he handed it to me. After a moment, he took on a thoughtful look and nudged me off his lap. "I think I still have my old calligraphy set upstairs," he said as he stood. "I'll give it to you, so you should practice, okay?"

"Okay," I said, a little dumbly, as he went into the hall and up the stairs. I guess I was going to start practicing calligraphy, then.

I looked down at the sheet I was holding. Minato's handwriting was large and slanted, but it was lighter and airier than mine. Maybe I had used too much ink; my characters were heavy and dark, and perhaps a bit undersized, in comparison.

Still, I thought as I looked down at two of our kanji side-by-side, perhaps there was a hint of beauty here. Something about these two eternities, one big and one small—one steady and one wavering—made them look a little bit like brother and sister.

* * *

A/N: Just a few notes:

(1) _"That's the eternity in 'perpetuity,' if you know it"_ : Japanese nouns are often composed of two or more kanji, and Minato is basically saying that the word "perpetuity" (永遠) has the character for "eternity" (永) in it.

(2) _"The kun-yomi is_ nagai _, and the on-yomi is_ ei _"_ : Japanese characters usually have a least two readings, _kun_ (the Japanese reading) and _on_ (the Chinese reading). In the case of 永, you could read it as either _nagai_ (which is what you do if it's standing alone) or _ei_ (which is how it's pronounced if it's in a compound. This is why 永遠 is read _ei_ _en.)_

永 is nice in that it only has one of each reading, which is not always the case.

.

I can confirm that calligraphy is monstrously hard. The first character I ever learned was 永, too; in fact, most of that scene was transposed directly from my first ever experience with calligraphy, down to having my instructor hold my hand to write the character. Needless to say, it came out looking ugly as hell. As for lines looking like EKGs, that also happened to me; I shook like crazy the first time I used a skinny brush. (Coincidentally, the hardest of the strokes in 永 by far is the last one because it's got like three different thicknesses. Don't underestimate the difficulty of that little tail.)

I'll try work up some momentum and use it to ride out the first couple of chapters, so hopefully it won't take too long to get the first arc or so out. It's summer, though, and I have an aunt in need of cheap labor while she moves houses, so we'll have to see… :(

As always, leave me your feedback!

Cheers,

Eiruiel


	3. Team 11

**Published: 6/21/2016**

* * *

 _Dear Jiraiya-sama,_

 _Thank you for your letter; I'll start thinking up some names right away. I'm giving this to Minato to pass along to you._

 _You needn't share anything I ought not know, but write to me if you can. Tell me of your health at the least._

 _I will be waiting eagerly for your return, so please be careful while you are away. Don't pull any muscles, old coot!_

 _Be safe,_

 _Suzu_

* * *

It took a little bit, but Kakashi gradually warmed up to Minato. He never got to the point of coming over for dinner, but Minato, when regaling me with stories of their missions, was always pleased to mention his progress. Not academically—though I was sure Kakashi was soaring with progress, because what else could happen when two geniuses got stuck in a teaching relationship together?—but rather socially. These days, I was led to believe, he was positively amiable. Even affectionate, at times.

That changed when I finished my second year at the Academy. I came home after a long but well-fought celebratory game of ninja—I had been on the losing side, since I had been on the team opposing Yoshiya and Akihiko's, but it had been a good battle all the same—and found Minato on the sitting room floor with his head buried in one hand. He looked, for lack of a better word, stressed. Since he was a man of nigh-unbreakable composure, it was a startlingly uncommon sight.

Kushina was sitting next to him. Though she was still dressed in her mission gear, her flak jacket was unzipped, and she looked right at home.

"Oh, Suzu-chan," she said upon seeing me enter. "Welcome home."

"Tadaima," I replied, used to having her welcome me like she lived here herself. She was a near constant guest at the House, after all. Then I shot a concerned look at Minato and raised my eyebrows in silent question.

"It's Kakashi," my cousin said before she could explain, dropping his hand and sighing. "He's angry with me."

I found this to be rather unexpected. Lately Minato had had nothing but good things to say about the goings-on between himself and his student.

"What happened?" I wondered, brow furrowing.

"The village assigned two of the new Academy graduates to our unit," Minato explained, finally straightening his slumped shoulders and sitting up. "So we could finally be a proper platoon instead of just a master-apprentice pair. He's not happy that I agreed to take on additional students."

"Oh," I said, connecting the dots easily enough. That meant Obito and Rin had arrived on Team 7. Kakashi probably wasn't appreciating the intrusion much; it had taken him the better part of a year to start getting along with Minato, after all, and in the Naruto series, he hadn't managed to mesh with his teammates right up until the day Obito sacrificed himself. Kakashi just wasn't the type to get along with people easily, it seemed.

I felt a sudden spike in anxiety. Right. That was going to happen, wasn't it? Obito was going to go to Kannabi Bridge, give up his eye, nearly die, and then...

"It's only temporary," Kushina soothed, rubbing Minato's shoulders consolingly. "He's just adjusting. Give it a little while and he'll be the same to you as he always was."

"We were finally just starting to work well together," Minato muttered to himself, rather failing to take in her wise words. "And now the team is all out of whack… the boys despise each other, there's so much animosity…"

It was rare for him to air out his problems like this, but I supposed it was just Kushina's privilege to be privy to his troubles. For the briefest moment, I felt a little jealous; then I realized how ridiculous it would be for me to try and compete with the woman he would marry and decided to stop. If anything, being clingy and resentful would only add to his stress.

Still, it would be nice if he ever relied on me like that. But who would confide in a little cousin? I know certainly wouldn't have relied on any of my cousins back on Earth. And in reality, I wasn't all that reliable anyway. I put the matter of Obito far from my mind.

Feeling heavy, like I'd suddenly picked up a few troubles of my own, I huffed out a sigh, waved goodbye at the commiserating couple, and went upstairs.

* * *

If Konoha's Team 7 struggled at the outset, Team 11, upon its formation a year later, flourished. As expected, Akihiko and Yoshiya and I were once again grouped together, just as the Academy had teachers had planned. They had groomed us to become a classic front-line squad, balanced with ninjutsu capability while still leaning toward superiority in physical combat—exactly the kind of team that was ideal for enduring drawn-out open-field battle—so there had been no way village administration could pass up making a squad out of us. Our teamwork ratings from group exercises, of course, were already exceptional.

As for our sensei, he was a cheerful, sensible young man who had given what people these days call an "oh-shit" promotion. He had been a fairly skilled chuunin, seasoned enough to be called reliable, and he had been one of the few unfortunate everymen to be shoved into the office of jounin when our stock of elites began dwindling dangerously low. By his own admission, he did not think he was particularly cut out for the title, as his only major strength was in bukijutsu and he had no patience for ninjutsu theory or chakra studies. Akihiko liked him immediately and decided he was a good target for idolization.

At barely twenty years old, Itsuki Mikawaya was the type of person who was, I suspected, often underestimated. He was not from any clan; like Yoshiya, he was only a second-generation ninja. Unlike Yoshiya, however, he did not have any talent for the flashy, stereotypically "shinobi" arts like ninjutsu. And compounding that, he looked—speaking frankly—just a little bit like a girl. His hair was actually longer than mine, and though he often ponytailed it, it didn't do much to diminish the fairness of his face. If he hadn't been born with a fairly deep voice it wouldn't have been at all difficult to mistake him for a woman.

But despite that—or maybe even because of that—he had a razor-sharp intellect. His deduction skills were fearsome; we learned this on the very first mission we took with him.

The mission, as far as genin's first missions go, was actually fairly significant: patrolling the merchant road that traders took into Konoha. Everyone had to check in with the gate guards, of course, but having shinobi wandering up and down the route was both a necessary show of power and a practical measure to reduce congestion at the wall. Having people present their papers before they got to the sentries made them put their documents into order, which would in turn expedite their entry into the village. Plus, if there were any suspicious characters were running about, we were better off detaining them as far away from the village proper as possible.

What was amazing about Itsuki-sensei's deduction skills was how quickly he was able to sort out those suspicious characters. Our team alone caught four people trying to enter Konoha illegally—three because they had skipped getting their visas properly checked and stamped, and one who suspiciously didn't have a visa at all—within the first hour and a half.

If he couldn't figure people out by their body language, our teacher only had to ask a few guided questions to completely solve their personalities and purpose; he was that good at reading people. The only thing that was perhaps more impressive was his ability to completely mold his own personality to fit theirs. His act ranged from forceful, intimidating killer to fabulously camp to reliable nice-guy and on; he could change faces like a revolving door. Yoshiya and I quickly came to admire him as much as Akihiko did.

"I grew up doing stuff like this," Itsuki-sensei cheerfully told us as we finished filling out our last detainment report. "My granddad owns a fruit store, so I spent a lot of time watching people when I was a kid."

"Where did you learn the other bit?" Yoshiya asked eagerly. "The whole personality-changing thing?"

Sensei blinked and looked at him quizzically before comprehension dawned on his face.

"Oh, that," he laughed. "I guess that's more of one of my quirks than anything, but I can probably blame it on the fruit store, too. I've haggled a lot with the suppliers over the years, and, well, I guess I just noticed that it was easier to crack them if I behaved a certain way. Before I knew it I was adjusting for everyone, not just the sellers." He laughed again.

I wasn't sure whether I found that impressive or not. Well, it was impressive, but it was also a little disconcerting. If he spent so much time acting, when was he being himself?

"I'm always being myself." He grinned at me when I asked. "'Myself' being a person who reacts according to the environment. Changing demeanors is just part of my nature at this point, I'd say."

This puzzled me, but I considered it for a moment. What was a person's personality if not the inclinations he held and the behaviors he naturally performed? Perhaps if Itsuki-sensei was most comfortable arranging himself according to the people he was interacting with, that could be called his "personality."

I was deep into this line of thought when a sudden weight crashed into my shoulders and sent me hurtling into Akihiko's back. I let out a yelp; Akihiko went down with my weight and caught me piggyback-style by reflex. Startled, he looked over his shoulder at Yoshiya with eyebrows raised. Yoshiya lowered his hands and shrugged his shoulders.

"She had her really serious 'I'm thinking important profound thoughts' face on," he said by way of explanation.

"Oh, I see." Akihiko immediately put an overly-somber face on and nodded knowingly.

"See what?" I demanded, knowing I was being mocked and hitting a fist against his shoulder in protest. "What's there to see, huh?"

"You know, you do tend to take yourself rather seriously, Suzu-chan," Itsuki-sensei put in thoughtfully. His lips twitched like he was fighting back a smile, and I scowled at him.

"Well, whatever," Akihiko interrupted before I could get started. "Hey, Yoshiya, I bet I can beat you in a race to the gates even with Suzu on my back."

My displeasure instantly refocused.

"What do you mean, 'even with'—" I began indignantly.

"You're on," Yoshiya immediately responded, sinking into a running position. Vehemence quickly dissipating, I found myself paling as Akihiko did the same, arms still wrapped firmly around my legs.

"Hey, wait a second!" I had seen these two in races before, and this was not particularly a position I wanted to be in. "I don't think this is a good idea!"

I tightened my arms around Akihiko's neck and shook him a bit, but he only let out a bark of laughter and smacked me in reply.

"Ready," Itsuki-sensei called out, holding an arm up and no longer trying to hide his grin. "And… go!"

"Wait—!"

* * *

It goes without saying we received high praise for our first mission, and our streak continued for several months after that. Our performance was pretty much impeccable. Never in all my shinobi career have I ever clicked with a crew as well as I did with Team 11. I never reached that level of synchronization and efficiency with anyone again, actually; not until I began running missions with my husband, anyway, and even then that was more of a partnership than a proper squad. No… as far as squads went, nothing to this day has managed to compare to the synergy we had on Team Itsuki.

We were brilliant. Perhaps nostalgia and my childhood naïveté has romanticized my rememberings, but I really think we were; we grew so fast, and we worked so well. Itsuki-sensei, astute as he was, was able to understand and correct our weaknesses with great efficiency. He had us train in our deficiencies, and the polarization in our squad blended until it became tight coherence. Yoshiya picked up the slack on his taijutsu; Akihiko figured out how to rein in his chakra; I polished my skills until I could hold my own against them… none of us became all-around masters overnight, of course, but we progressed enough that it almost seemed like there would be no end to our advancement. There had been a lot of hope for the future back then.

In the end, though, we didn't even last a year. Five months: that had been the lifespan of the platoon called Team 11, the twice-bright star that burned itself out in half a breath.

The war ended us, like it did a lot of other things. That was about the time that Minato was called away to the western front, to the campaign against Iwa that was stalling in the valleys on the border of Earth and Grass. It was a testament to the state of our offensive; even though splitting something as rare as a full platoon was a seriously undesirable action, the village made him go anyway. If he had to leave his team behind for a full half-year rotation because of it, well, they must have figured it was better than the alternative.

Minato's departure for the front lines also marked the point where things began to really fall apart. Konoha began spiraling uncontrollably into disaster: our lines crumbled like dry clay in a string of horrific losses, teams were split left and right as the casualty count climbed higher and higher, and Iwa pushed us all the way across Kusa no Kuni and right up onto Fire Country's threshold. They had had us on the ropes long before we finally managed to cobble together a desperate alliance with Suna, and our numbers—numbers that had still been recovering from the devastation of the Second War when this third one had started—shrank to about a fifth of what they had once been. Morale hit rock-bottom faster than a bag of bricks in a wading pool.

It was really no wonder. It was the worst part of the worst conflict in the history of our Hidden Village. Konoha's military strength reached an unprecedented low.

Just about everyone lost someone in those days. We were no exception.

* * *

We were assigned the mission on the same morning that Akihiko, after properly screwing up for the first time since we'd graduated, fractured his tibia. It had happened while he had been chasing after a cat named Toramaru; the plank Akihiko had landed on while roof-hopping had been positioned badly, and he had gone feet-first into the ground when it had fallen through. He was lucky not to have broken both of his legs, really. I suppose that was what one got for underestimating the strength of the demon cat.

Despite being down a member, though, we received a summons and were told to deliver a vital message to the Leaf-nin at Tatsumi River, who had failed to contact the village even once this whole week. Never before had I seen Itsuki-sensei protest a mission so harshly. He was furious that we had even been considered for such a task. Unconscionable, he said, to send a genin team—a genin team not even at full capacity, led by a ninja who was only a jounin in name—to the front lines like this. None of us were even remotely qualified for an assignment of that gravity.

Tough luck, had been his answer. Team 11 is the only viable option for this assignment, they had said. Your team has a flawless record, and your students are highly skilled; if you do not take this mission, it will only be shoved upon another team, one weaker and even more ill-suited to the task.

He took it in the end, though only after almost a full twenty minutes of arguing. The mission dispatcher eventually had to resort to the threat of a court-martial, citing three different counts of insubordination. With charges tantamount to treason, our teacher suddenly found himself standing on a road that could end only in incarceration—or execution. Possibly both.

Unsurprisingly, he acquiesced. He received the message in private, and I never learned its contents; to this day, I have no idea what words our team perished for. Then we were charged to leave ASAP. Sensei bore the hawkish glares of the entire Missions Office as we left.

"What do you mean they barred me?" Akihiko demanded once we'd gotten to him, smacking his hands on the table he was seated upon. The way he jostled his leg must have hurt like hell; the iryou-nin tending to him let out twin cries of horrified protest at his movement.

Akihiko seemed too angry to care, though. "My injury has barely even been processed!" he said furiously. "The healers are halfway done with it; it's going to be _fixed_ in a couple of hours!"

"They weren't willing to wait for a couple of hours," Itsuki-sensei replied, expression tight and tone straining for neutrality. "I don't doubt they would have cleared you and let you run on that leg if they could've, Akihiko-kun—" a slight curl of disdain formed on his lip then— "but I guess it's just not meant to be."

Akihiko threw his arms into the air and nearly kicked one of the medics in the face. At that point we were curtly asked to leave, as we were agitating a patient and disrupting his treatment. Sensei gave off the impression of a taut rubber band just a twitch away from snapping as we exited.

But there was nothing we could do. He sighed in defeat as we reached the road outside; then he gave us an hour's time to assemble our gear and report to the main gate. I went back to the House to put together a travel pack.

"You're going out of the village?" Auntie asked curiously when she saw me drag a box out of the hall closet and begin stuffing sealing scrolls full of camping equipment. These weren't my own scrolls, of course; they were Minato-produced ones. We had a stock of them, since he had gone out of his way to make a box-full. He had insisted it had been for practice, but I rather suspected he did it to save us the money that would been used to purchase them from a store. Common as they were, scrolls like these weren't cheap.

"Yeah… it's an emergency mission, apparently." I furrowed my brow as I stuffed a waterproof cloak and an extra set of clothes into my bag. Even with sealing scrolls, was I going to have enough space…?

"The team leader usually carries the that, if one is necessary," Uncle Souhei informed me, plucking what was apparently a redundant item from my hand. "It must be urgent, if your teacher didn't even have time to tell you that. He didn't go over out-of-village travel protocols at all?"

"He just told us to bring our overnight bags," I replied. "The mission people told us to go right away, too. We kind of got the stink-eye for dawdling."

Auntie's forehead began to crease. "Where are they sending you?"

I told her. Both she and Uncle let noises of disbelief.

"Tatsumi River? That's where they sent Minato!" Auntie exclaimed, horrified. "They want you to go to the front lines?"

"They're sending you? Genin?" Uncle pushed his bangs back, eyes wide and incredulous. "There wasn't anyone else who could do it?"

"Is it really such a terrible mission?" I fretted, beginning to really worry now. Itsuki-sensei's reaction had been troubling enough, but this was taking my anxiety to a whole new level. Auntie tended to fuss, but Uncle was a good measure for the seriousness of a situation. He never reacted loudly if it wasn't called for.

My foster parents both straightened up and seemed to grab ahold of themselves.

"Not necessarily." Uncle cleared his throat and tried to play it cool. He seemed to know well enough that there was no point in backpedalling, though; his grimace was very telling. "But it's not exactly… what most people would consider appropriate for rookies fresh out of the Academy. Generally these missions go to the more experienced, since it's a fairly dangerous duty."

Auntie was starting to look rather off-color. Uncle turned, concerned, and touched her arm.

"Please be careful, sweetheart," she finally managed to get out after a moment, putting her hand on his and squeezing it hard. "Be very careful. Listen to everything your sensei says, and stay with your team at all times, okay? Don't go off anywhere alone, even to the bathroom."

"Yes, Auntie." I was going to have no issue with that. I had already heard plenty of horror stories about kunoichi going out on their own, unwilling to take along comrades because they were all men. None of them had had particularly happy endings.

Uncle helped me put together the rest of my pack, which turned out to be fortuitous help; by the time we had finished I only had fifteen minutes left to report to the gate. My aunt bestowed upon me a hug and an anxious kiss, and my uncle echoed her instruction to be careful.

Itsuki-sensei was already there when I arrived. He waved me over and showed me how to check out with the guards, and we received a scroll recording the size of our party, our business outside of the village—in this case, a mission—and the day of our departure. We needed to present it alongside our identification if we wanted to be permitted re-entry upon our return.

Yoshiya arrived last, since he had had no assistance with his packing. Sensei did a quick check on our bags, just to see if we had made any egregious mistakes, and then we were off.

We did not go particularly quickly. Though sprinting might have been more in line with the pressing nature of our task, Tatsumi River was a great distance away, and we had to keep our limits in mind. That probably would have excused a somewhat steadier pace, I grant, but even with that caveat I could still tell we were far too slow for this task. Itsuki-sensei might have been able to keep a swifter stride, had he been on his own, but little genin Yoshiya and me would have had no hope of keeping up with him whatsoever.

"Why did they send us on this mission?" Yoshiya finally voiced what we had both been thinking, once we'd stopped to refuel and rewater a few hours later. He grimaced, rubbing a stitch in his side. "I mean, I'm not saying that I think we should speed it up, but that's also exactly what I'm saying. We're not going nearly fast enough. We can't."

Itsuki-sensei, who had been all temper and nerves back at the village, seemed to have calmed down during the run. "There wasn't any other option, it seems," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I doubt we were their first choice, either. But with most of our forces out fighting, there's a only limited number of viable shinobi left at home. They probably just decided to make do with what was left and give it what they could; it's better than not trying at all."

The situation really was that dire, then. Had things gone this badly for Konoha in the series, too? We weren't losing yet, but we certainly seemed to be on the fast track to defeat.

There was nothing much to say after that. Quietly, we stashed our canteens away again and took off into the trees. I was forced to redirect the energy I spent brooding before long, though; it was a brutal run. I had always thought of myself as fairly fit and athletic, but by the end of the day I was sure I had been mistaken. What had I been doing before today? Training? It certainly didn't feel like it.

It was a bad state of affairs. Yoshiya, who was supposed to have first watch, was unconscious the moment we set down camp. I couldn't throw stones, either; I was drooling on his shoulder about ten minutes into mine, and Sensei, who had originally only been supposed to take on the dawn watch, was forced to forgo sleep altogether. The fact that we had to be up and running before dawn did not help anyone's mood, either.

We ran for the whole rest of the next day, too, and it was in that condition, half-dead with fatigue, that we made it to the border of Grass Country. It was, all in all, a disaster. Prospects hadn't been ideal even when we had been fresh, and our chances pretty much hit zero by the time we arrived. Itsuki-sensei was tired and distracted; Yoshiya and I had no idea what to watch out for; we knew nothing of the land whatsoever. It was no wonder at all that we walked straight into the ambush.

It was the height of midsummer; the scorching heat made the days that followed feel perfectly like hell.

* * *

A/N: Here we go.

Cheers,

Eiruiel


	4. The Battle of Tatsumi River

**Published: 6/25/2016**

* * *

I woke up drowning on dry land. The humidity was unbearably bad, and the stench of sweat was even worse. I tried to take a deep breath and immediately regretted it; it took a lot of willpower to refrain from gagging uncontrollably.

Sitting up took a lot of willpower, too. My arms were bound, so it took a bit of awkward shuffling before managed to get myself upright. Then I looked up, felt my heart stop, and scrambled backwards until I hit a wall.

The room was _filled_ with Iwa-nin. They were unmistakable in their one-sleeved red-and-brown uniforms. I nearly passed out again at the thought of fighting them all, but after a moment's observation, I managed to realize that none of these men looked at all like they were about to jump on us. Most of them, in fact, were sitting cross-legged, talking or maintaining their weapons. A few of them were even asleep, curled up around their packs or shoved against their comrades' sides. They looked hot and tired and just as disgusted by the haze of body odor as I was. A few of them were watching us—some surreptitiously, some without reserve—but on the whole we were largely being ignored.

A shoulder bumped into mine. I looked and saw Yoshiya, who was sitting between me and our sensei; they, too, had their wrists tied together. Itsuki-sensei was already sporting a split lip and the beginnings of an ugly black eye.

"What's going on?" I whispered, feeling lost and not insignificantly frightened. I'd never even seen a Rock shinobi in real life before, let alone been bound in a room full of them.

"We've been captured," Sensei muttered back. "It's a bunker of some sort. I don't know. They don't want to be above ground right now, for some reason."

"Well, I doubt they're down here by choice." Yoshiya wrinkled his nose aristocratically. "Twenty unbathed men stuffed in a small, poorly ventilated room in the middle of summer? I think I'm about to be sick."

"Your problems are much bigger than the _smell_ , Yoshiya-kun," Itsuki-sensei shot back with uncharacteristic sharpness. Sweat dripped off his nose and fell into his lap. There was a lull in the chatter around us.

Yoshiya went quiet, and despite the intolerable heat, we found ourselves scooting closer together. Suddenly I wished Akihiko was here. He'd know how to break this tension.

What felt like hours passed like that. Yoshiya and I sat there and fidgeted, biting our lips and exchanging glances. Sensei stared grimly out at the shinobi before us, and the Iwa-nin kept ignoring us. Then, finally, a corner of the ceiling opened up and another ninja dropped in. He walked straight towards us, and Yoshiya and I squished ourselves together once more.

"You're all awake now," the ninja grunted, flicking his gaze at us before looking back to Itsuki-sensei. "I suppose we'll have to get on with this, then. My name's Tokiya, Leaf shinobi. Are you willing to share yours?"

Itsuki-sensei looked away, lips pressed together in a hard line.

"Don't be like that," Tokiya sighed, raking a hand across his brown hair. It stood up in small spikes, wet with perspiration. "This will be more pleasant for all of us if you cooperate. You know what's going to happen if you refuse to talk to us."

Sensei said nothing, eyes still turned to the side. Tokiya squatted down in front of him and spent a few moments more on cajolery, but everyone here knew it was a futile attempt. Eventually, he stood up again and let out another sigh.

"You're not even going to try, are you?" He ran a hand over his face. "You're not going to banter, or argue, or even attempt to mislead me. You're just not going to talk at all."

Tellingly, our teacher was silent. Tokiya shook his head and motioned another person forward. He was a bulkier man, broad of shoulder and several inches taller than his comrade. His face was one of flinty indifference.

"Hatsuta," Tokiya introduced, and then pain exploded on my scalp. I gasped and found myself being lifted into the air by my hair, ponytail coming undone. My bound hands jerked upwards.

"None of that," Tokiya murmured, gently forcing my arms down before I could attempt to jab Hatsuta in the eye. I gritted my teeth as tears began pooling in my eyes.

"Suzu!" Yoshiya sprang up, and Itsuki-sensei whipped his head back around. My teammate glowered.

"Put her down," he demanded with ferocity I didn't know he was capable of.

"We can't do that," Tokiya replied, sounding downright apologetic. "Only your squad leader can make that happen."

In an instant, everyone was looking at Itsuki-sensei. I couldn't move my head, but he was easy enough to see regardless.

The whole bunker was silent now.

"Put her down," our teacher finally said, looking up and meeting eyes with Tokiya.

"Tell us where your allies are encamped," was the soft reply. "I swear no harm will come to her if you do."

"I don't know where they are. Put her down."

"Then give us the message you were sent here with. Anything you can give will help."

"I can't. Put her down."

Tokiya took a deep breath. "Perhaps I'm moving too quickly," he said. "Let's get to know each other better first. Why don't we start at the beginning? Give us your name, stranger."

"Sensei…" I whispered then, trying not to tremble, as Erina-sensei's face suddenly appeared in my mind. Itsuki-sensei lowered his gaze.

"Put her down," he repeated, quieter than before.

Tokiya's friendly expression flattened. I held my breath as he sighed, crossed his arms, uncrossed them, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then sighed again.

"Hatsuta," he finally muttered.

"Ugh!" I grunted as I was dumped unceremoniously back onto the ground. I knew right away there was going to be some nasty skinning on my knees, but I had the feeling that that was going to be the least of my worries.

I was right, of course. Suddenly, Hatsuta's right foot lashed out, and the whole room resounded with the sound of my rib cracking.

"Suzu!" Yoshiya cried as I immediately began choking on my spit. My vision lit up like a New Year's fireworks special; I spent a valiant moment fighting to stay upright, but failed and fell over, collapsing in a heap. It was nearly as excruciating as a second kick.

"Torturing little girls is not a pastime of mine," Tokiya said over the sound of my gasping. "I don't want to do this. But it doesn't have to be this way. We're starting off slow, so just give us your name, Sensei, and I can stop. I'm sure my men don't want to listen to this, either; spare us all the pain."

Just don't scream, I told myself as Itsuki-sensei remained mute. I inhaled deeply, bearing both the repulsive stench and the incredible stabbing pain in my side. Just don't scream. Just don't scream, and it will be fine.

Another sigh. "Hatsuta," Tokiya said again.

 _Do your best—_

My best, we discovered in short order, was not terribly much.

* * *

Things got progressively worse over the next few days. At first it was just kicking. Then they started up on beatings. After that, it was stepping on my stomach—pure agony. By the time they started with strangling I was pretty sure I was just going to break in half any day now. Sure, they were ninjas, and they probably knew just how much would be enough before it would actually kill me, but I was positive they had broken more ribs the other day and if I wasn't going to die of internal bleeding, traumatic pneumothorax was sure to have already occurred. It definitely felt like I was breathing with only half a lung, anyway, and it was so damn hot that it was impossible to tell whether I was running a fever or not. We probably wouldn't find out about any infections until it was too late. Maybe I was already on my way out; I certainly felt like I was dying.

And wouldn't that be a relief, if only it didn't mean that the exact same thing would happen to Yoshiya next. I knew I was disposable. _I_ didn't have any information, after all, and as long as they had a person to use as leverage against Sensei, I could expire right now and they wouldn't be bothered.

With that thought hanging over my head, I spent most of my free time—that is, all of the time I spent free from the tender mercies of Hatsuta—propped up against the wall, throbbing and aching and unable to move without being sent into spasms of unbearable pain. I didn't catch sight of Itsuki-sensei often; according to Yoshiya, though, he was hunkered down in the corner of the bunker. He had stopped speaking even to us by the time the third day had rolled around, so I had no idea of how he was faring. Hopefully better than me; if he quit here, after all, that was the end of all of us. But he was probably all right. Aside from the black eye and the split lip, which he must have gotten while fighting in the initial ambush, they hadn't touched a hair on his head.

We fell into a sluggish rhythm. Some time in the morning, Tokiya would come back with Hatsuta and ask for Itsuki-sensei's name once more; Itsuki-sensei would ignore them; I would get thrashed. Then they would leave and come back in the evening to repeat the process. Yoshiya, whose existence was mostly being ignored by Tokiya, seemed like he was doing the best out of all of us.

Yoshiya talked to me a lot while they were gone, as if he were trying to make up for Sensei's silence. I learned a lot about nature transformation and shape manipulation when I was lucid because of it; he was explaining his way through the whole set of Yamano Yuuhei's _Treatises on Chakra and its Forms_. It was strangely cathartic despite his choice of subject matter; it was almost like I was back at the Academy, daydreaming my way through lectures again. I smiled at him when I felt up to it, and even found myself indulging in a laugh or two despite the searing pain it caused.

We were in the company of Tokiya and his men for five days. Our stay with him came to an end when they were eliminated in the campaign that would eventually come to be called the Battle of Tatsumi River. Or, as most people remembered it, the Yellow Flash's debut. We didn't see any of it, of course.

Our comrades' arrival was heralded by a sudden break in the well-established routine. Some time during the very still and soundless night—at least, I thought it was night—all of the Iwa-nin suddenly got up. Someone whispered something, and then they were all pulling on their gear and reloading kunai and shuriken into their belt pouches. In short order they shuffled over to the far corner of the room, where they jumped up through the little hole and out to the ground above. We were left in the bunker alone.

Soon after this swift and silent mass exodus, though, Tokiya and Hatsuta appeared again. They moved quickly and urgently. They also skipped greetings and went straight to grabbing me and throwing me down in front of my teacher.

"We don't have a lot of time left, Sensei," Tokiya said softly. "I'm giving you an ultimatum. Just tell us what you know—anything, whatever it might be—and we will let you go. Otherwise, Suzu-san dies."

I heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed. For a moment, I stared at Itsuki-sensei. He had his arm around one leg and his face buried in his shoulder; he didn't attempt to look up at Tokiya, or down at me.

I squeezed my eyes shut and waited.

"Sensei, you have to say something now," Tokiya urged. "She's going to _die_."

There was silence, just as there ever had been. And then there was a step forward. Hatsuta's step, which I had known better and dreaded more than anything else in all these past days. I couldn't help myself; I let out a whimper.

It was pitiful. I'd never heard myself make such a pathetic-sounding noise in my life.

But then there was something else. "No," said Yoshiya's voice. There was shuffling, scrambling, and then a footfall next to my head. Yoshiya's footfall.

"Move, Yoshiya-kun," Tokiya ordered, coldly and quietly.

"No," Yoshiya repeated. "No. Just stop. Don't touch her again. I'm sick of watching this; if someone has to die, then just kill me."

There was a pause. Then Tokiya said, "I don't think you know what you're asking for."

"Maybe I don't," Yoshiya bit back with heedless abandon. "But I don't care. It's an honor to die for your comrades and your village." His voice took on that cold, haughty lilt that it had had when I had first met him; it was the lilt of his bravado. "Go ahead and make me a hero. Give them a reason to celebrate my name."

"Yoshiya," I managed to force out between shaking breaths. Oh, God.

There was a deep sigh. "As you wish, then, little Leaf shinobi," Tokiya said, sounding resigned. "We'll make you into a martyr. Your blood was bound to spill before long, anyway."

And they did it. There was a rushing of air, a grunt—a short gasp—

Something wet splattered over my back. And then, a beat later, Yoshiya fell against me. I felt his head hit my shoulder.

"Yoshiya," I began to sob in earnest, and at once my sides were on fire again. Every heave of my chest felt like a sledgehammer. But even though I tried, I couldn't stop. I _couldn't_ stop, even though I desperately wanted to. After all, there was nothing more painful for a person with broken ribs than uncontrollable bawling. In fact, it hurt so much that I thought that maybe, just perhaps, I would finally stop breathing now. Just now—just stop.

But I didn't. I breathed, I cried, and I kept on living, even when it felt like I could have—would have, should have—died.

"You've only got one chance left, Sensei," Tokiya's voice spoke again, as measured as always. "We're going to leave you alone for a bit, so you can think in private. We'll come back in a little while; you can give us your answer then."

They left. Despite their promise, though, they never returned. After that, there was nothing; no more chatter, no more Iwa ninjas sharpening their blades or shining their kunai, no more quiet patter of footsteps. It was just me, Itsuki-sensei, and Yoshiya's blood soaking into my shirt.

* * *

I have no memory of being found. I don't remember anything, really, up until the point I woke up in a tent back at our camp. Minato told me later how it happened, though:

He had split a part of the main force off to search for any remaining enemies. While sweeping the area, the Hyuuga leading the team spotted the underground bunker with her Byakugan. When they investigated, they found us; after my cousin had been summoned and their medic-nin had administered first aid, they brought us back.

And that was all. That was how our stay in hell came to an end.

Despite the brutality that had occurred, I no longer have any scars to show for it. My bruises faded, my broken bones healed, and the cuts that I had received under the care of Hatsuta have all gone away. By the time a month or so had passed, there was not a single mark on my body left to show for the whole ordeal.

I don't think the same could be said for my heart, though.

* * *

Though by the time I returned to the village most of my bruises were gone, they were still there in the immediate aftermath of my captivity. My ribs had been the chief concern of the medics, so they fixed those right away, but the rest they left for time to heal naturally. They could have dealt with my other injuries easily enough, I think, but there were only two properly trained iryou-nin left alive in the company deployed at Tatsumi River, and there was only so much chakra to go around. Consequently, the act of breathing no longer sent me into unbearable agony, but I was still very much sore and in pain all over.

The worst of these ills was my throat. There was, I knew, a very dark ring of abused flesh still encircling my neck. I had to hand it to the Iwa ninjas; there was little else more torturous than choking a person with a half-destroyed ribcage. Who among them had come up with that technique? Whoever he was, he had the art of sadism perfected.

It made an excellent excuse for not talking to people, though. It saved me from answering several uncomfortable questions when I first woke up, and if I ever rolled over in my futon and buried my face in my pillow mid-conversation, whoever was talking to me would assume I was tired of straining my very raspy voice and would generally leave me alone. I was able to sleep several days away unmolested because of it.

I didn't really want to do anything else besides sleep. Everything was a trial; I went into total safe mode, performing only the essential acts of eating, drinking, and breathing. Anything else was just too much. Too much effort, or too much pain.

Minato visited me several times. He even sat by my bed and kept me company when he could be spared for it. That wasn't often, though; the previous commander of the troops here had died almost two weeks ago, and since then he had been made into the de facto leader of the company. He hardly had time to do anything but run the camp.

I made a bit more of an effort to interact with him, if only because his time was so precious, but I still felt better being alone. Well, maybe not better, but I preferred it to being gawped at or given sorry looks. I knew being tortured was plenty of cause for concern, but there was no need for so much attention. Unlike other people, I wasn't—wasn't dead. Or… insane.

That was what they were saying about Itsuki-sensei. News traveled fast, even to the bedridden. People were saying that the captured jounin had snapped and gone crazy—that the Iwa ninjas had broken him. I knew most of what was reaching my ears was the usual nonsense, if only by the sheer number of contradicting stories—he's catatonic, no, he won't stop shouting, no, he's hallucinating and he keeps calling for his students under his breath—but there was a seed of truth in every tall tale.

He refused to see me. It was the one thing I would have gotten out of bed for, but he refused to see me at all. Adamantly.

I think I spent about a week in that state. Sleeping until noon, eating what was left out for me, lying around, not talking, not doing anything… I refused to believe it at first, of course, but it was damning evidence of how eminently _not-fine_ I was. It was ridiculous of me to think that I could be anything but not-fine after that. Still, it wasn't out of line with my personality; I'd always been the type of person to deny the problems that were right in my face. Even back on Earth I had been the kind of girl who had stuffed and stuffed and stuffed her stuff, right up until the moment it all broke loose.

It was a drenching rain that broke my stupor. Poetic on one level, I supposed—a deluge of water breaking through the dam of blocked emotion, or something like that—but strangely out of line with what the literary standard of what weather after a major death ought to be. After someone important dies, one part of me must have been thinking, there should be nonstop rain symbolizing grief and mourning, right? It was only after things became hopeful again that the sun was supposed to burst out from behind the clouds.

Really, though, it was just the opposite. The sun had been beating down on us as it had been all summer, cracking the soil and scorching anyone unfortunate enough to come under its gaze. Rain was the exact relief needed for this infernal drought. The thought of water falling from the sky was so compelling, in fact, that the sound of it forced me outside of my own accord for the first time since I'd been rescued.

I was soaked through in mere moments. It was a pounding, pounding rain; I felt like I was being bombarded by thousands of tiny weights, like a flood of heavy glass marbles were being dumped on me over and over. It made me ache, as covered in bruises as I was, but something about it was also… odd. It was a sensation I wanted to hold onto, despite the hurt.

Minato was very alarmed to see me standing outside, doing nothing, under the force of a torrential downpour. He called my name, but I beyond looking up at him, I didn't do much else.

"Suzu?" he said again once he had left the shelter of his tarp and run up to me. He made an aborted move to touch my shoulder, stretching an arm out and then halting his hand. No one besides the medics had really had the gumption to touch me since I'd first arrived here, since pretty much anything made me flinch and quiver.

It was a reaction beyond my control; that wasn't unusual for people who had suffered some sort of great trauma. I knew that he wouldn't hurt me, of course, but my body couldn't seem to get that through its head. It was tiresome, and embarrassing; I wanted to return to normal at once.

I took a step forward and let his palm hit my shoulder. Minato let out a noise of surprise, but since I'd been the one to move, he didn't draw back even after my hands started trembling again. I fisted them in the hem of my shirt and said the first thing that came to mind.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

Minato's expression melted. Not into pity, which I had quietly been dreading to see on his face, but of something else. Something very warm and brotherly.

He put his hands under my arms and lifted me up, settling me on his hip just like he had when I'd first come into this universe. It was more awkward than it had been back then, because I was much bigger now, but he paid it no mind at all.

"Don't be sorry," he murmured, letting me latch onto his neck and shake like a leaf. "None of it was your fault."

I took several deep breaths. "Right," I said.

"No one is to blame for anything but the ones who are dead now."

"Right," I said again.

"He didn't die because of you. Your sensei didn't get hurt because of you, either."

"Right," I said, one more time, and my eyes began to itch.

Minato began walking back toward the tent. He smoothed my wet hair back and didn't speak again.

My old clothes had been thrown out, as no amount of washing or redyeing would have erased the bloodstains. Since my only spare outfit was currently soaked though, Minato gave me one of his extra shirts to wear after I was dried off. It was long enough on me to be a dress, and its turtleneck collar was loose enough for me to stick my chin in without pulling it out, but the elastics on the sleeves at least kept my arms from being swallowed by the garment.

"I have to go back to work," Minato said, changing his own soaked shirt, as I sat down on my futon again. "Will you be alright?"

"Yeah," I said, and then I gave him an embarrassed look. "Sorry. Um, for taking up your time. And your shirt."

Minato laughed and shook the water from his hair. "Don't be sorry," he echoed himself, smiling. He came over and crouched in front of me, and I found something metal being pressed into my hand. "Call me if you need me. I'll be there in a flash."

He vanished back outside. I looked down at the object in my hand and made noise of recognition. It was a kunai, slightly heavier than I was used to, with a three-pronged head. I unwrapped fingers from the handle and found it painted with all the manner of marks. It didn't look like the neat four-character Hiraishin seal that I had seen him use in the series, and I suspected after a moment of thought that he hadn't yet refined it to the one that I was familiar with.

Some children slept with blankets or stuffed animals to feel better in the darkness, but that night, I went to bed clutching my big brother's knife instead. It worked just as well as a teddy bear would have—better, even.

* * *

A/N: Did you see it?! Did you see my amateurish use of foreshadowing?!

I confess that I yanked on my own hair several times while writing the opening scene. It did hurt, but just pulling on it probably isn't nearly as painful as having the whole of your body weight hanging from it for an extended period of time. I feel wincy just thinking about it.

Physically harming myself for research aside, I had to take a lot of breaks while writing this chapter. Nothing truly explicit is ever even described, but it was exhausting to compose anyway. And after all of that was over, the h/c in the final scene felt positively saccharine… it was probably twice as hard as writing the torture. I guess even in fiction it's easier to be cruel than it is be loving.

Oh, and FYI, the new sidestory companion fic is up! First chapter is Minato's POV of finding Team 11 in the bunker.

Cheers,

Eiruiel


	5. War Heroes

**Published: 8/16/2016**

* * *

I was missing Akihiko sorely by the time I reached my sixth week at the camp. Despite all of the people around me, life at Tatsumi River was an isolated one, and I did not appreciate this as much as I had initially. The other shinobi would hold polite conversation with me if I initiated it, of course, but I had not been terribly friendly with them when I'd first arrived at the camp. Added to that, I was a child. I was "taichou's little sister," to be precise. The potential for socialization was not impressive.

My next recourse would have been my brother, but Minato-nii was being overworked to the point that even his own upkeep was suffering. His sleep schedule was fairly nonexistent, and if he took his meals at all he had to take them on his feet. He would probably just collapse outright if I tried bothering him. And as for Itsuki-sensei, he was still hiding away. He wouldn't even come out to eat with us in the mess tent, and he still had no wish to see me, so I wasn't entertaining any delusions. There was no need to expect any company from him.

I was angry at first, but the feeling didn't last. The dam had cracked and the water had boiled, so to speak; it was only natural that evaporation followed. Even the burning resentment—to put me through all of that and refuse to even look at me, could that man call himself my sensei?—eventually hollowed out. He hadn't had a choice, and besides, when the two medics advised me not to push him past his comfort, the fear of cracking the fragile balance he'd managed to cobble together was so obvious in their counsel that it drained me of all my ire.

With nothing else to do, I trained. I was a ninja child, so I found some measure of consolation in the familiar routine of stretches and katas and meditations, but truthfully, it didn't amount to much. I was able to pass the time, but the days were no less lonesome. In fact, they were perhaps a little worse; when I did taijutsu, I would find myself remembering all of the mornings I spent practicing Hurricane Gale forms with Akihiko, and when I sat down to do chakra exercises, Yoshiya's voice would resound endlessly in my head, reciting Yamano-sensei's treatises.

An insatiable longing began to fill the hollow space.

But eventually, after six weeks of solo katas and restless meditations, the order to return home came. Never had there been more welcome news. It would be lifetimes too soon if I ever returned to this wretched place. The other shinobi were glad for it, too; they had already been here at Tatsumi River for half a year, and some of them even longer than that.

Despite his sleep deprivation, life suddenly seemed to flow back into Minato. He carried me on his back all the way to Konoha with a lively spring in his step, and a soft grin was forever creeping around the corner of his mouth. When we broke for camp, he would sit by the fire, pull out a square of cardstock with curling edges, and stare at until he went to sleep. It was easy to see who he was thinking of.

I began thinking of people, too. I thought of my cousins and my aunt and my uncle, and then again of Akihiko. A month was a long time to be away from a best friend, especially when he was a clansman who lived mere houses away. It was the first time since I'd met him that I'd gone so long without his company.

One best friend couldn't replace another, but I couldn't help but think that I would feel at least a little better when I got to see him again.

* * *

I saw Itsuki-sensei one more time before he disappeared from my life completely. We had to stand together when we reentered the village, since we were out on the same mission scroll. He shuffled more than he walked, and he stared at the ground instead of looking at me.

He was a different man. Healthy, sun-tanned skin and energetic eyes had given way to gauntness and distracted glances; his hair, normally neat in its holder, was loose and spilling all over his shoulders. Ken-san kept a firm hand on his arm for the whole of his interaction with the gate guards.

He didn't say anything to me. Ken-san met eyes with Minato, nodded, and walked away; Sensei followed after him in silence, still staring at the ground.

And that was all. I spent several silent moments staring at his back as it disappeared into the village streets, an indecipherable storm of emotions whipping about in my head.

Then there was a sudden blip of _something_. I turned to my right, feeling as though I had just been touched by a familiar sensation, and found Akihiko standing there in the dusky sunlight, eagerly scanning the crowd. Somehow he was nearly an inch taller than he'd been when I'd last seen him, and his hair had gotten longer. It was still standing in spikes at the top, but it was beginning to look a little shaggy in the back.

"Hey, welcome back!" His smile widened into a grin once he realized I'd spotted him. I felt a burst of utter gladness at the sight of it. "You were gone _forever_. Don't ever leave me behind like that again! If I have to suffer one more D-rank without you guys, I can't be held responsible for my actions!" He let out a hearty laugh and affectionately began slapping my back.

My warm reply died in my throat the moment his hand landed. Abruptly, the only thing I could think was that the red of his shirt looked quite keenly like the burnt sienna of Hatsuta's sleeve.

"Suzu?" Akihiko hesitated at my wide-eyed silence. He slowly withdrew his hand.

"Oh," I said, snapping back into reality. I offered him my best sheepish look. "Er, sorry. I spaced out for a second there."

"Are you okay?" he queried concernedly. I reached up, pinched the skin of my cheek between my fingers, and pulled as hard as I could. Then I let out the breath I hadn't known I'd been holding.

Right. Everything was fine. There was no need to freeze up.

"Yeah, for the most part," I assured him, conjuring up the best smile that I could. "I'm just… still recovering, that's all."

"What happened?" Akihiko asked with growing alarm. Suspicion began to form in his gaze. "Where's Sensei? And Yoshiya?"

"Sensei already left," I said, resisting the need to begin shuffling my feet. My teammate's gaze was piercing. "He… um… wasn't feeling all that great."

"Wasn't feeling all that great" was vastly understating the matter, but explaining exactly what had happened to Itsuki-sensei would be a whole issue of its own. It was a poor deflection, but I didn't feel up to tackling that right now at all.

The furrow in Akihiko's brow deepened; I doubt I succeeded in deceiving him at all, but he seemed content to let it go for now. His concern was elsewhere.

"Yoshiya?" he prompted, insistently. "Where is he?"

Yoshiya was in Minato's pack, sealed in a black scroll and sitting stacked alongside the rest of our fallen comrades. My mouth went dry.

"He's not here," I whispered, lowering my gaze. "He's…"

Akihiko's hands fell to his sides. "He's—" he started, jaw falling open when I failed to complete my sentence. Inanely, I made the observation that he'd lost a tooth recently. "Is he—are you saying—"

 _Dead_. The word floated up between us, unspoken, like some sort of hazy, black smoke. I bit my lip and began twisting my fingers together. And then, just once, I nodded.

"You're serious," Akihiko said, stunned. There was a long pause, and when he spoke again, there was a quiver in his voice. "You… he's… what happened?"

"They were intercepted before they could deliver the message," Minato explained for me, having been following the conversation silently until now. "The Iwa forces did a number on them. Yoshiya-kun didn't make it."

I gave him a grateful look for his assistance, but when Akihiko turned his gaze on my cousin, it was one of blank disbelief. A shadow of something passed behind Minato-nii's gaze, but it was gone before I could identify what it was.

"Akihiko-kun, right?" he asked, sinking into a crouch so they were eye-level. "I'll release the body to Hokage-sama and it'll be turned over to his family as soon as the debriefing is finished. We can't say much more until then, though. Are you all right with that?"

Akihiko stood mute for a long moment. Then, finally, he nodded his head.

"Why don't you stop by the House tomorrow, Akihiko-kun?" my brother proposed, offering a small smile as he stood again. "We'll be able to talk more then. You're more than welcome to come, right, Suzu?"

He looked to me. I looked back down at my feet. "Right," I mumbled, lifting my hand and fitting it into his. Minato wrapped his fingers around mine and turned back to Akihiko.

"...I will come by," my teammate finally muttered, speech stiff and uncomfortable. His unease was almost tangible. Then, before I could compose myself enough to say anything else, he turned and fled.

On that off-key note, my cousin and I set off for home. I spent the walk back to the House in dejected silence while Minato strode on beside me, quiet once more.

Even hand-in-hand, the trek felt unnaturally long.

* * *

He was no longer a minor, so Minato had moved out of the House some time ago, but he still slept over with some frequency. He ate here often, too, to the point that it could be said that the House was still more his home than his own apartment was. I was not at all surprised to find that Kushina had decided to wait here for his return than at his own residence.

That was not to say, though, that she did not surprise me. She surprised both of us. She was standing in the hall the second the words "We're home" left Minato-nii's lips, and in another she had a hand fisted in his collar. I gasped and flattened myself against the shoe cubbies to avoid her angry charge.

"You asshole!" she snarled, without preamble. "It's been weeks since I last heard from you! I thought you were dead! You never responded even though I wrote so many letters, and they were saying the Iwa-nin were still advancing, and they wouldn't tell me your status when I inquired because I wasn't family—"

"K-Kushina!" Minato yelped, throwing his hands up. "I'm sorry, I—communications were cut off, and I wasn't permitted to send personal correspondence once they were reestablished—"

"Apology not accepted, you heartless bastard!" Kushina cried and shoved him. I ducked under him as he fell and then scrambled out of the genkan, deciding that the whole of it might be considered a blast zone. "Do you think this isn't your fault? Do you still not get this? Do you _know_ what it feels like to be told 'I'm sorry, but you're not permitted to his personal information if you're not a family relation' when I've spent over half a decade looking after you and worrying about your sorry ass?"

Minato woozily pulled himself upright, putting one hand on the wall to steady himself. "I'm sorry I made you worry, but you know I can't help village policies, Kushina…" he mumbled, shrinking a bit.

"Can't help it my ass!" the redhead yelled. And then, without any warning, she burst into tears. "Get a clue, you moron! I'm not telling you to change village policies! They wouldn't be an issue if you would finally just marry me already!"

Minato froze as if petrified. A deadly hush fell, and I caught sight of Auntie and Uncle slowly poking their heads out from behind the doorframe like they were a pair of backpackers gawking at a bear. Then Minato made a slight choking noise, prompting Kushina to let out a noise of frustration, sit down next to me, and begin wiping angrily at her face with her hands.

"Can you believe this man?" she asked me. "Is it even worth crying over this worthless milksop?"

"U-um…" I stuttered, glancing at the now-mortified Minato before sending a frantic look to my foster parents. Auntie Reiko's face immediately melted into sympathy, and Uncle Souhei shot her an annoyed look. I suddenly got the feeling that it had taken him a while to propose, too.

Flushing furiously, Minato spent a hapless moment inarticulately working his jaw, stammering and making flustered noises. For a moment, even I was hard-pressed to believe that he had just defeated an entire contingent of Iwa ninjas and was being hailed as a returning war hero. It was almost comical.

Despite the heavy tint of hero worship, I think that even back then I had begun to suspect that Minato, however skilled and shrewd, was a timorous person by nature. It didn't often show, since he was smart and he planned his moves carefully, but in matters of emotional intelligence, he tended to drop the ball. Even in—or perhaps especially in—his close relationships.

When I had been a teenager, I had often looked back at this moment and sneered. By then Kushina had told me the story of her and Minato's courtship, and it had contained cringeworthy amounts of dithering. Not on behalf of Kushina—she had been blessed with self-awareness from a young age, so she had known right away what she wanted—but of Minato, who had been a barrel of endless prevarication. I can only imagine how maddening it must have been for a straightforward person like Kushina to have a wishy-washy crush that flipped from unbearably romantic—swooping to the rescue like a shining knight in armor, complimenting her hair, carrying her like a princess—to unbearably awkward like he was a revolving door. There had even been a point when they'd been fourteen or so that he had gotten so embarrassed by his attraction to her that he had gone out of his way to avoid her as much as possible. For a teenage boy still squarely under the thumb of puberty, such embarrassment had perhaps been inevitable, but his reaction had been so extreme that it eventually convinced Kushina he'd come to hate her. That misunderstanding had nearly ended them, according to her.

Six years later saw her in a similar crisis. Ninjas have been in the habit of marrying young since the beginning of time, and now that they were the proper age, Kushina—along with no small number of her peers—had been expecting the man she loved to finally pop the question. But the proposal never came, and the war dragged on. Their assignments began forcing them to spend less and less time together, and Minato became more and more preoccupied as new responsibilities began piling themselves on his plate. Then, after vanishing for half a year, he stopped returning her letters. No one could deny it looked bad.

Uncharitably, one might call that "being strung along." I had certainly been lacking in charity back then, and had often spent my time privately deriding my cousin's lack of sensitivity. Of course, it would be several years until I got married myself, so I had had no idea. Not about the serious social—and even moral—implications that Minato had been weighing, nor about just how much it meant that, in that moment, he looked Kushina in the face and threw all those considerations away.

But that had been a different time. As for nine-year-old me, she had only been speechless when Minato pulled himself together and knelt in front of Kushina. She hadn't been thinking much of anything, really, when he cupped his hands around Kushina's and apologized with blistering, excruciating, visceral sincerity, "Forgive me, Kushina. I wasn't thinking of you. It was wrong of me. Very wrong."

Kushina hiccuped and met his gaze, still trying to glare. Then her puckered face dissolved into tears all over again.

"I thought I'd lost you," she wept, pressing her forehead against his knuckles. "They wouldn't tell me anything. Ojisan and obasan couldn't do anything. I thought you were gone."

"I'm sorry," Minato murmured, leaning forward and touching his head to hers. "It won't happen again, Kushina. You're right; I've put off making a decision for far too long."

His voice was filled with conviction. There was a beat. Then, slowly, Kushina lifted her head, looking like she scarcely believed.

"Kushina," Minato said, drawing back so he could look her in the eye, "would you marry me so I can make it right?"

Nine-year-old-me couldn't have grasped everything that those words said about the man called Minato Namikaze. Teenaged-me, either. But that was the nature of a human being's existence.

* * *

Between my homecoming, my brother's proposal, and my reunion with the rest of my cousins, I almost didn't get a chance to talk to my aunt and uncle. But after everything had settled down and meals had been eaten and welcome-homes had been given—after everyone had brushed their teeth and changed their clothes and finally gone to bed—I somehow found myself on an adult's hip again, arms looped around my aunt's neck. She was shaking as she put her cheek against my head.

I shook too. I even began to cry a bit, despite having been mostly dry-eyed for the past few weeks. In Auntie's arms I almost couldn't remember what being in the bunker had been like. She was almost enough to chase away the memory of it altogether.

"We thought we'd lost you, too," Uncle Souhei murmured, and I felt his fingers slide through my hair. "There was no word of anything at all. We thought that it was likely Minato would be all right, but we had no idea about you."

Auntie began to cry, too.

* * *

Akihiko arrived to find the House ablaze with activity. It went far beyond the already significant ruckus expected of a household of this size, but that was because preparations for a wedding were already underway. The actual marriage itself would only be a matter of adding Kushina's name to the family registry, but Auntie was adamant that there be some sort of ceremony, however small. The clan agreed, and well-wishers were pouring in at a constant rate to give their congratulations and offer their assistance.

"What?" Akihiko asked me after I'd managed to twist my way through the sudden sea of vases and flower stands that had managed to appear on our porch over the course of a single morning. It was no small task, and there was more than one collision.

"Minato-nii proposed to his girlfriend last night," I explained once I'd finally reached him, hopping on one foot and ruefully rubbing a stubbed toe. "People keep coming to give us stuff despite the fact that he technically doesn't even live here anymore."

"Last night?" my teammate repeated incredulously. "And all of this is already going on?"

"Well, you know Minato-nii is kind of famous now," I pointed out. "And he was already well-known in the clan before that. I guess news just travels fast."

"And… what? Are they getting married tomorrow or something?" he asked, aghast.

"No… they're doing it next week."

Disbelieving was the only word to describe Akihiko's face. For a moment, he could only stand in speechless astonishment. And then, very suddenly, he looked angry.

"Are you telling me that's the first thing he did after captaining the end of a six-month campaign?" he demanded hotly. "Has he even gone to report to the war council yet? Has he even turned over the bodies to the Hokage yet?"

I took an automatic step back, eyebrows shooting up at the acrimony in his voice. "He's doing it right now," I said, holding up my hands warily. "It was too late to report to the Hokage when we arrived yesterday, so he went first thing this morning."

"Oh," Akihiko said. Just as quickly as he had swelled up, he deflated, shoulders slumping. I slowly lowered my arms.

There was a long beat of silence. Then the sound of people laughing inside the house wafted through the open window, and I felt the need to lower my head.

"...Let's go somewhere else," my friend muttered, turning away.

After a few minutes of wandering we found ourselves sitting on the swing set in one of the village's tiny parks, kicking at the dirt without really trying to move.

"What happened?" Akihiko finally asked, dragging a heel across the sandy soil beneath us. I gripped the long metal links of my seat's chains and looked down at my lap.

"They ambushed us," I mumbled after a moment. "And they wanted to know what the message was. But Itsuki-sensei wouldn't tell them, so they beat me up and stuff… and then…" I paused. "...And then they were going to kill me, but Yoshiya got mad and told them to kill him instead. And that he'd be a hero if they did."

Akihiko went a long time without saying anything. When I looked up again, he was staring at his hands. They were half-bandaged, cut up and callused from training.

"...They beat you up?" he finally asked, turning his face to me once more.

"Yeah," I nodded uncomfortably. "They… broke my ribs and stuff. And stepped on them. And, um… choked me."

A look of horror formed on his face, and I ducked my chin, not wanting to see the pity when it appeared.

"The iryou-nin got to me as soon as we were found, though," I hastened to add. "It, uh, really sucked, but I got better pretty quickly."

There was silence in reply. I chanced a glance back at him and saw that the same furious look he had worn earlier. Uneasily, I wondered if I ought to consider that better or worse than pity.

"And Sensei?" Akihiko asked, jaw harshly set.

"I don't know, really," I confessed. "He didn't want to see me. But… he's in a bad way. I don't think… I don't think they're going to let him be our teacher anymore."

That was the reason why I'd been kept at Tatsumi River for so long, after all. He had been declared unfit for duty, and since no genin was allowed to lead a team, even a team made only of herself, I hadn't been allowed to make the trip back to Konoha alone. Not that I would have felt particularly confident doing so. I had all the orienteering skill of a drunken pet hamster.

Akihiko looked a little like he had expected something like this, though the resulting frown was still formidable. It was an ill-fitting expression for a boy whom I'd always seen smiling.

"What do you think they'll do with us?" he asked. "With Team 11?"

"They'll have to give us a new assignment," I said, and bit my lip. "Do you think they'll split us up?"

Akihiko's response to that was to give the ground a rather sharp kick. His swing jerked backwards and began wobbling violently. Frown deepening, he planted both of his feet in the sand to still himself.

That about summed up my feelings on the matter as well. I pushed down a wave of bitterness. Team 11 wouldn't be needing a reassignment if it hadn't been given a mission that was so horrendously above its paygrade. Those men behind the missions desk were the reason Yoshiya was gone in the first place.

And they'd given such little thought about it. They gave such little thought to everything. They only thing they were concerned about was getting the assignments out. I knew deep down that I couldn't really blame them, though. They were only doing their jobs, and they were being forced into work that they hadn't been prepared for, either. They'd once been ordinary chuunin, Academy instructors and regular worker bees, with no training in war tactics or logistics beyond what they'd learned from their own days in the Academy.

But despite it all I still couldn't forgive their negligence. It had been war and they had been without guidance, but that was a bitterly cold comfort when Yoshiya had come home in a body bag because of them.

* * *

It was with great displeasure that, a week and a half later, we found ourselves meeting with same dispatcher who had threatened Itsuki-sensei to take the mission. When he received Team 11 for the summons and found half of it missing, it took several seconds for him to find his tongue again.

"Where are the rest of you?" he asked us blankly, gathering himself.

"Gone," was the glacial reply. We had wondered if Itsuki-sensei would appear at this meeting, but neither of us were surprised to find that he wasn't here.

"Even the kid?" The dispatcher's eyebrows rose.

"Funeral was last Friday," Akihiko informed shortly. The man behind the desk took on a look of dismay.

"Is that so?" he asked, grimacing. "So it ended in a shitshow after all."

"Yes, thank you for that," I scowled at his flippancy. "I did so enjoy taking a sabbatical in an Iwa bunker."

"Got a mouth on you, don't you, girl?" the dispatcher returned, looking like he was holding back a scowl of his own. "Don't blame me. The order came from above." Then, before I could snark off a reply, he looked over his shoulder and yelled, "Why are are these two here? I can't give anything to two genin on their own! They need reassignment!"

"You're supposed to do it!" a haggard-looking young man, seated on the floor, called back from behind a massive tower of paper. I could make out the bags under his eyes even at this distance.

"What?" The dispatcher paled. "That's not—I don't have that authority!"

"Wartime Operations Act, section 7E! You do!"

"You're kidding," the dispatcher groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "They're pushing even this stuff onto me?..."

Though he grumbled with his palm half on his face, he reached into a drawer and began rummaging around. Eventually he produced a binder and began flipping through it at rapid speeds. His brow furrowed more and more the closer he got to the end, and when he reached the back cover, he actually went back to the beginning and went through it again, taking the time to be more thorough.

"We don't have any jounin-sensei left," he whispered, disbelieving, once he'd completed the second circuit. "You can't be serious."

Despite its low volume, this announcement had people all around us turning to look at the dispatcher with disbelief.

"What?" a woman seated a few chairs away from him got up. "Did you just say there are no jounin-sensei left? That's impossible."

"Look!" the man snapped, and began going through the binder again. "WIA, KIA, KIA, squad full, WIA, KIA, WIA… they're all dead, injured, or they've already got teams!"

Akihiko and I glanced at each other as the Missions Office burst into clamor. The whole bloc of people working by the windows pulled out scrolls and began writing at once, speaking softly but urgently to each other under their breaths. The two clients waiting closest to the door outside, poor souls, nearly jumped into the ceiling when the previously calm room of intensely-focused ninjas exploded with chatter.

The dispatcher tangled a hand in his hair.

"We can't use the chuunin to teach," he began muttering to himself, reaching down and pulling out another, thicker binder. "Will they take genin in their squads? But the only open teams are the eight-man-cells…"

We looked on in silence as the man turned pages, muttered more, and began to despair. Then, out of nowhere, the woman who had spoken earlier said, "Promote them."

" _What?_ " Akihiko and I were decidedly _not_ silent at that. The dispatcher echoed us, turning to her with a look of utter incredulity.

"Promote them? Are you insane?" he demanded. "They graduated six months ago!"

"The issue is just that genin aren't allowed to take missions without someone of a higher rank supervising them, right?" the lady reasoned. "Just promote them and register their group status as 'partnered' so they don't get sucked into the eight-mans that deploy to the war front. Then just have them do co-ops with other teams. Easy."

"Are we even allowed to do that?"

"Wartime Operations Act section 7F, clause 4," the sleep-deprived chuunin muttered, still working through his papers like a zombie.

"It's fine," the woman urged as the dispatcher pulled out a third binder and began flipping through it with a doubtful look. Once I caught sight of the photo inserts on the pages, I realized it the General Forces' registry.

"...They're covered in commendations," he said after a moment of scanning our pages, hesitatingly. Akihiko immediately blew up.

"Are you trying to get us killed?" he snarled, slamming his hands onto the desk. "First you send our team to the front lines, and now you want to asspull promote us? Do we look like cannon fodder to you?"

"Akihiko," I hissed. Though I wouldn't mind smashing some desks in myself, the last thing we needed to do was piss off a man who could potentially ruin our lives. "It's the court-martial guy. Shut up before he decides to indict you."

The dispatcher favored me with a withering look, but at least he didn't immediately decide to send us off to the border.

"Hey, not bad, kids," the woman commented, peering at our profiles. "You know, if they were still on, you probably would've been in the Chuunin Exams anyway."

Despite myself, I felt a hot flash of temper, and Akihiko and I shot her synchronized death glares. If this was going to happen, we both knew, we had this person to thank.

"Enough, you two," the dispatcher cut in sharply, before anything else could be said. "Look, you don't like the idea and I get it. You came back from a bad mission and you're hurt and you're missing your teammate. But Konoha's military strength is declining at a rate faster than anyone has ever seen. Do you really think you have to luxury to pick and choose where you can go?"

"Didn't Shodaime-sama found this village so people would stop sending children off to their deaths?" Akihiko shot back contemptuously, and I was briefly reminded that he was something of a history buff, at least where wars and famous shinobi were concerned. "A fat lot of good you're doing for all that."

"You're not children, you're ninjas," the dispatcher snapped in reply. "In the end you belong to the village, and right now, we're at war. There's no time to waste coddling you."

Akihiko made to open his mouth, but I grabbed his arm and interrupted tightly, "You're right. We're ninjas. We'll do what we have to." To my teammate, I said quietly, "Don't do anything stupid. I'm on the line here, too."

Akihiko eventually backed down, though he made no attempt to hide his scorn. The dispatcher hmpthed loudly and set out a blank scroll, which he proceeded to fill out and stamp with an official seal.

"Here," he said, holding it out to me. "Take it to the Tower to change your IDs and get your vests. And if you need a mission later, come back after eleven. My shift'll be over by then."

I took it with a pinched expression. "Gladly," I replied.

The dispatcher's hand twitched, and I wondered if he was resisting the urge to flip us off. Akihiko certainly looked like he was ready to give _him_ the finger.

"Let's go," I muttered, turning on my heel.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, guys! My summer job got kind of hectic, and then my sleep schedule went way out of whack, and a bunch of other things happened. This chapter's longer than usual, though, so there's that! Granted, it's choppier, too, but I suppose that's what happens when you can only write a few disjointed paragraphs at a time over a course of a month and a half.

Enjoy! Sorry for any typos that appear.

Cheers,

Eiruiel

* * *

Notes:

1\. " _The Missions Office"... "The whole bloc of people"... "The two clients standing closest to the door outside"_

Though the Missions Desk in Naruto is portrayed as been in a huge empty room, I really find myself doubting that such a huge piece of Academy real estate was set aside for one tiny row of chairs. I also doubt a Hidden Village as big as Konoha could assign all its missions from a single counter manned by a small handful of people. Thus, the Missions Office is full of administrative chuunin hard at work.

The concept of clients waiting outside to be seen comes from Tazuna's introduction at the beginning of the Land of Waves arc. Also, the idea that paranoid intel-hoarding shinobi would strive to keep civilians from hovering around in a room full of sensitive information.

2\. " _Wartime Operations Act, section 7E!'"_

I never felt that the slipshod nature of the wartime promotions were portrayed well in the previous draft of Glory, and I wanted to try making a point of how the war has made all sorts of otherwise unthinkable "shortcuts" commonplace. Hopefully, between this, Suzu's comments on the rush-job educations at the Academy, and Itsuki's status as an "oh-shit" (or, as Akihiko would phrase it, "asspulled") jounin, I've done a better job.

3\. " _They'd once been ordinary chuunin, Academy instructors and regular worker bees, with no training in war tactics or logistics beyond what they'd learned from their own days in the Academy."_

By the time Iruka gets behind that desk, though, there'll have been policy reforms, along with other things that Suzu alluded to in an earlier chapter.


	6. Eviscerated

**Published: 8/23/2016**

* * *

"I'm home," I half-called, half-sighed as I unzipped my vest. I dropped it on the couch once I'd made it to the sitting room, still feeling a little stiff; I was still not quite used to wearing it. It was a heavy thing, loaded with more than just physical weight.

Auntie was out, so Uncle was the one who greeted me. He was sitting at the dining room table with a blank-covered black book in his hand. What seemed to be a whole ream of paper was spread out in front of him. Each and every sheet was covered in lines and lines of writing that, rather curiously, didn't look like Japanese. He swept everything into a neat pile and put it away before I could make out much more about it, though.

"Cipher work?" I guessed. Ojisan was an iryou-nin and it was unusual to see him spending his time on spycraft, but I didn't find it terribly surprising. He was a ninja, after all, and being a ninja sometimes just meant encryption.

"Pretty much," Uncle agreed, but didn't elaborate. I was too much of a shinobi myself by now to pry, so I just sat down across from him and rolled my neck with a tired sigh.

"How did it go?" he asked, folding the little black book shut.

"Well," I reported, because it had. It'd been draining and I was exhausted, but at least it was done now. "I passed with flying colors. They expect me to come back in a month to follow up, but the psych eval itself was totally fine." I quirked a smile. "I'm well within the limits of my sanity, at least for now."

"Sanity's a relative term," Uncle replied with a humorous smile of his own. "But I'm glad to hear it. Did you like the doctor?"

"Hayato-sensei? Yeah, I liked him a lot. I'm glad you told me about him. How'd you make friends with him?" I asked curiously.

I hadn't known prior to Uncle's suggestion that I could pick who did my psych evals, so long as the person was qualified for it, but now that I did, I was probably going to never ask for anyone but Hayato Yamanaka again. Kind, but still-matter-of-fact, not cruel or impersonal, but not patronizing or babying either… not _pitying_. He was a good doctor.

"You know, I was a doctor once, too," Uncle Souhei said, a little dryly. "Hayato was usually around the camps in the Second War, putting people's heads on right when we field medics couldn't. We were tent buddies all the time. But besides that? He was my genin teammate."

"Really?" I gasped, delightfully surprised by this unexpected discovery. "But Hayato-sensei said he never goes into the field anymore. And that he's still a chuunin."

"I don't go into the field anymore, either," Uncle pointed out. "And it wasn't like he was required to be promoted because I was. He's fine with his rank as it is; he's told me that himself. Not everyone is meant to become a jounin, you know."

His words made my cheer fade, and I found myself going silent. Itsuki-sensei had often said that he was only a jounin in name, and that he'd only been promoted because no one else was left. Not in humility or self-deprecation, but as a fact. Considering what had happened to Akihiko and me just a few days ago, I was willing to believe it. I didn't feel particularly like a chuunin myself.

"Do you think," I began quietly, "that if they hadn't promoted Sensei before he was ready, everything that's happened… wouldn't have, you know…?"

Uncle put on a knowing look.

"Happened?" he finished for me, placing his chin on his hand. "It's hard to say. I don't know. You can't change things once they've passed. And even if you were to know ahead of time..."

He trailed off, suddenly pensive and silent. I waited for him to finish, but he never did. His gaze began to stray about, drifting left, and then right, and eventually coming to a stop upon the black book still resting in his hand.

"Never mind it," he sighed and stowed it in his back pocket. "Things are as they are."

I creased my brow and wondered how to respond to that. Both Auntie and Uncle had lived through the Second War, and they were bound to have lost people of their own. I didn't know who Uncle might be thinking of right now, though. They never spoke of those days.

We were both quiet for a little while, just sitting at the table and listening to sounds of the empty house. It wasn't often this quiet around here, but today, we were the only ones home. Auntie was out with the toddlers at the park, the Academy-aged kids were at school, Chiharu and Jinta and Akira were all training with their teams, Tenrou and Nodoka had missions... and the oldest of us had already gone to spread their wings in the world. Nanako was out fighting with the Kumo-nin in the north, and Minato—

I sat up straight, feeling a small twang at the edge of my awareness. Minato is here, a voice within my head informed. And not just Minato, I realized as I furrowed my brow and found that the one small twang was actually two. Two people, standing close together outside like the notes of a perfect fourth played in unison. I looked over toward the hallway; the sound of the front door sliding open reached my ears a moment later.

"Tadaima!" chorused a set of two voices, one light and feminine, the other deeper and male. A grin spread over my face.

The oldest of us had already gone to spread their wings, but at least this one often came home to roost.

"Okaeri," Uncle and I both chimed, smiling. Minato and Kushina appeared in the doorway, dressed in casual clothing and wearing identical grins.

"We made cake!" my sister-in-law beamed, holding up a large rectangular box. " _Big_ cake!"

Uncle Souhei began to chuckle. He made a welcoming gesture.

"Are you telling me," he snorted amusedly, "that you took a whole week off so you could spend your honeymoon _baking_?"

I found this puzzling, too. I understood that travel wasn't particularly an option at the moment, given the fact that Konoha was at war and both Kushina and Minato were very infamous people, but there were plenty of nice places within the village, too. They could've gone to one of the onsens or something.

"Don't knock it, old man," Kushina snorted back, coming over and setting the box down on the table. Uncle Souhei, who had been used to being respectfully referred to as "ojisan" by her, let out a startled little laugh at the insulting address. Given that that was what Kushina had likely called her own father, it was probably quite endearing. "Baking's fun. Besides, we're doing other stuff, too. I never realized that having my own house would be so awesome."

Until now, both Minato and Kushina had been living in small single apartments. Minato hadn't wanted to take up a whole house in the compound just for himself, and Kushina, though she had a jounin's decent pay, had been pinching pennies. Now that there were two of them, though, Minato had happily staked his claim on one of the vacant homes near the compound's edge, and the rest was history.

"I never realized that you were a gardening maniac," Minato-nii replied, seating himself on the cushion next to Uncle with a smile. "You'd think an Earth Release master had gotten into a fight in our backyard," he whispered to me conspiratorially.

"You'll be grateful when those fruit trees start to supply you with the means for pie," Kushina retorted as she took the spot next to me. "And I'll have you know that I make _excellent_ fruit pies."

"I do know," Minato replied happily, a warm grin on his face. "All of your cooking is excellent."

Kushina swatted at him from across the table, but there was no doubt she was pleased by the praise. I giggled. I doubted a cuter couple existed.

Things unfolded into small talk. They had come to deliver cake, but it seemed that that had just been an excuse to come over and socialize. An odd way to spend a honeymoon, but it seemed they were content to just run around being unrepentantly adorable newlyweds. Well, I considered with a faint pang, this would be the last time in a long time that their days would be so peaceful; perhaps they were just looking to enjoy it while they could. Once the week was over, after all, they were going back to war.

Eventually the conversation wound itself around to the subject of my promotion. They'd seen the vest lying discarded on the couch, and when they asked who it belonged to, I claimed ownership. Congratulations immediately went into order, but their delight quickly faded when I was obliged to recount the circumstances of its origins. It was a sour story, to say the least, and by the time I had finished Minato and Kushina both were frowning severely.

Looking to change the subject, I quickly broke off talk of the Missions Office and said, as though suddenly remembering, "Oh, but that's right, niichan, I've been meaning to ask you about something. I'm having issues with one of my seals, and I think it might have to do with the Serizawa factor."

Minato-nii's look of displeasure did not fully dissipate, but he saw my attempt for what it was and decided to leave it be for now.

"What's going wrong with it?" he asked.

"I'm trying to link something to a storage seal, but the fragmenting is uncontrollable," I explained. "I've tried seven different baseline arrangements but no matter what I do the middle seal keeps cracking. It's a set of three," I clarified when they gave me confused looks.

"Three linked seals, huh?" Kushina asked musingly. "Do you think we can see them?"

"Sure. Let me go get them."

I stood, dashed upstairs, went to my room, grabbed the seals I'd been working on since my return from Tatsumi River, thought to take some extra paper and a pencil, and then skipped two steps at a time back down to the sitting room. In no time at all I was spreading the three scrolls out for their perusal. Uncle took one look at the massive ink squiggle blobs, chuckled ruefully, and excused himself.

"Oh, I see what you mean," Minato-nii said once he'd left and we'd all crammed ourselves together on the same side of the table. "The middle one has to support two links. It's under a lot of stress… I'm not surprised you're having issues."

"Your fuuinjutsu is so _linear_ ," Kushina exclaimed as she picked up the big master seal. "It's like a block. You probably could save yourself a lot of space if you took the stuff in these two quadrants and arranged them into spirals."

"I've mostly been copying out of Minato-nii's old notes," I replied, rubbing my neck. "Can baselines be circular? He never drew any circular ones in his notebooks."

"Eh, you're still reading out of those old things?" Minato asked, looking a little embarrassed. He'd left me a lot of his old fuuinjutsu supplies when he'd moved out, mostly because he'd upgraded to better-quality stuff, but it looked like he'd forgotten his early works had still been mixed in there. "Those were from before the summer Kushina's mother visited and gave me tips. It's more of Jiraiya-sensei's style…"

"Well, that explains it," Kushina commented, tracing a finger around the circumference of the seal. "No wonder it's so bulky and kekkai-esque. Very Jiraiya-sensei."

Jiraiya, if I recalled correctly, was actually quite well-known for his barrier jutsu. I wondered where he'd learned his sealing from. His teammate had been Hashirama Senju's granddaughter, so it was possible he'd had the chance to learn from Mito-sama when she'd still been alive. That would make sense; from there he'd probably gone on to develop his own style by incorporating concepts from other jutsu that he knew. Since kekkai were usually big, solid things, Kushina classifying his style as "bulky" made sense, too.

"You don't need something so static for this," Minato said thoughtfully, tapping the problematic middle seal. "With some trimming we could probably improve its performance quite a bit. But it also bears asking if the two-way connection is needed in the first place. Is the third seal necessary?"

"There has to be a physical connection," I replied doubtfully. "If I get rid of the third I can't touch what comes out of the second."

At that, Kushina gave me a dubious look.

"That's going to involve a lot of stretch," she said. "Your kunai would disintegrate if the seals were more than half a foot apart."

"It's going to use ninja wire," I informed, and pointed to the master seal again, where the verb _maku_ was written. "That's why the alignment matrix has a coiling mechanism, see?"

Suddenly, Minato's eyes lit up with comprehension.

"Oh, I see what you want to do," he exclaimed. "You're trying to simulate the use of shuriken-led wires without actually throwing shuriken. You obviously can't get the same wrapping motion with just a propulsion matrix, since the angle will be wrong, but creating a crease in space to bypass distance and then physically manifesting an object… that's actually not too dissimilar to the concept behind Hiraishin. You've got a better grasp on space-time ninjutsu than I realized, Suzu."

"I didn't think of anything as complicated as that. I just got the idea off the kunai you gave me," I informed sheepishly, pulling out said knife from my holster and holding it so the sealwork on the handle was visible. And that was the truth, because I had not the slightest inkling of knowledge about the physics-defying study known as time-space ninjutsu. "I hope you don't mind."

Minato grinned at the sight of it and ruffled a hand in my hair. "Not at all. Nidaime-sama invented the technique, after all—I just adapted it for my own use."

I let out a laugh and reached up to ruffle his hair in return. Obligingly, Minato lowered his head for me.

"So let me get this straight," Kushina said, shaking her head a bit at our antics. "Basically, what you plan to do is use this big master seal to hold the wire. You'll put that second seal down on your target, and from a distance you'll activate the third. The second seal will pull wire from the master seal and explode out on the target with the force from this propulsion matrix," she put a finger on the character for "burst" in the center of the second seal, "and the third will anchor that wire back on you once the target has been bound. Am I right?"

"Got it in one," I confirmed, giving her an admiring look. Kushina immediately flashed me a cocky grin.

"I _am_ an Uzumaki, you know," she boasted. "I grew up doing this stuff."

"Only by force, according to your mother," Minato put in teasingly. "She told me pretty often that I was a much more well-behaved pupil than you were."

Kushina threw him a dirty look, but didn't reply, which probably meant that it was true. I giggled again.

"Anyway," she went on pointedly, "if that's what you're aiming for, Suzu, you're probably better off just taking this big activation mechanism in the middle seal out. Since it only goes off when you activate the third seal, all you need to do is thread a trigger through the same link you're using to express the anchoring mechanism. Here, just let me..."

Taking a sheet of the paper I'd brought down and plucking the pencil up in her left hand, Kushina sketched out a rough draft of what the improved seal would look like. I oohed as Minato leaned over me.

"And now there's room for stabilization," he said eagerly, pointing at the blank space the activation mechanism had once occupied. "And you could put in vectors to guide the direction of the propulsion. And you could add a mechanism to adjust the number of wires you want to use at once!"

"That'd be useful," Kushina murmured, eyebrows rising, as she began scribbling in his ideas. "Hey, if you link this portion to the third seal, too, don't you think…"

Quite suddenly a whole lot of jargon I didn't understand began flying between the two. Kushina pulled out another sheet of paper and drew out her suggestion. Minato excitedly began to point out more and more possibilities, and then somehow, before I knew it, I was looking at a set of seals that bore only a passing resemblance to the ones I had come up with on my own.

"I guess they had more problems with them than I thought," I said, bewildered, once they had finished with their modifications.

"Oh, that's not true," Minato quickly assured me, waving a hand. "You were right about the Serizawa factor issue. It probably would have worked fine as it was if we'd just fixed that."

"Probably?" Kushina repeated slyly. She tapped the pencil on the master seal.

"Well, there might have been a few other things we would have needed to adjust," Minato acquiesced. "But other than that I'm sure it would've been okay."

"Thanks, niichan," I said wryly, not at all fooled. Kushina began to laugh.

* * *

The next day was not nearly as lighthearted as the last. Akihiko's morning greeting consisted of this:

"Are you _finally_ ready go on a mission, then?"

He was panting hard. The training log in front of him was splintered badly on one side, and I knew grief-induced anger when I saw it. Well, he probably needed take his outlets where he could get them… I sure as hell wasn't going to be one of them, though.

"I'm not going to apologize for looking after my mental health," I replied sharply. "And it's not like the village would have let me take anything major without the psych eval, anyway."

He gave me a mutinous look. "Aren't you so calm and collected," he bit out, turning and bringing his leg up to give the training post another wincingly hard kick. "Yoshiya would be proud."

His name hurt to hear as much as the implied insult of _you don't care_ did. I bit my lip, breathed in through my nose, and said, "That's too far, Akihiko."

His shin connected with the log again, and a large sliver of wood came flying off. It snapped backwards and struck him across the forehead as if awarding him a cosmic comeuppance.

"Shit," he hissed and clapped a hand over the stinging cut. I grimaced and began searching for a bandage and some antiseptic in my belt pouch. That was probably going to leave a nasty mark.

Akihiko had been scowling when I'd located the items and stepped forward with them in hand, but by the time I was actually rubbing the bandage across his skin, his lips had softened into a guilty frown.

"Sorry," he mumbled, looking at his feet. "You're right. That was bad. I…"

"You're forgiven," I mumbled back, recalling my own experience with mourning outbursts. Even as an adult, those sorts of reactions were hard to control. "Just… don't do it again."

Akihiko nodded. We were far too old to hold hands at this point, and I doubted a hug would go over well, so we settled for marking our reconciliation with an awkward shoulder-elbow bump-thing. There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Guess we should go get a mission, then," I tried, smiling weakly.

"Yeah," Akihiko agreed, still staring at the grass.

Neither of us moved. We just kept standing there. The silence was miserable; it had been easy not to think about what a wreck things were when I'd been busy with my sealing project or worrying about my evaluation, but now the terrible truth was staring me straight in the face once more: Team 11 had been split and gutted, and now it was empty, a mere shell of the amazing, incredible, limitless squad it had once been. It would never be the same, never again. Sensei had gone off to God knows where and Yoshiya was dead forever.

"Are you crying?" Akihiko asked, horrified. "I really am sorry! I wasn't thinking and I didn't mean it—"

"No!" I denied, swiping my hands across my face. "I'm not crying! It's fine!"

"But—"

"I'm not crying!" I insisted. "Let's just go get a mission!"

I slapped my hands across my cheeks and then power walked away before he could respond, sticking my chin out in an attempt to ward off any more tears. If I stayed like this, I'd never recover. _Work_ was what was needed now, badly.

There was a brief pause, and then I heard Akihiko's feet crunching in the grass behind me.

* * *

Work was what we got. And what we kept on getting, well after I had calmed down. Akihiko was throwing himself at it with a will. Now that we were chuunin, we had the clearance to carry correspondence for the war operations, and there was an endless number of messages to be delivered at any time of the day. Sometimes we would get lucky and things would only need to be shuffled about in the village, but other days, they would need to go to the outposts. And the outposts were _everywhere_ , radiating out from Konoha like sunrays in all directions for miles and miles. Life suddenly became a gauntlet of endless running.

Akihiko preferred these running missions, though, because we could take more of them. Co-ops with other squads took time and effort to coordinate, and most squad leaders and jounin-sensei already had their hands full with the teammates they actually knew and cared about. People were having a hard enough time keeping themselves together; there was no concern to be spared for two orphaned genin who weren't even genin anymore. Cold as that was, though, I couldn't blame them. I probably would have been the same if I had had a squad of my own.

An echo of Tatsumi River's lonesomeness began to permeate my days. Of course, my family was around to keep things from reaching an unbearable level, but they were busy, too, and I had never had an abundance of friends. I'd only had two of them, and the one that was still alive was doing his best to work himself into oblivion.

I don't remember those days very well. Truth be told, there wasn't much to remember about them. They had been empty, mindless days. I worked; I trained; I practiced my calligraphy; I ate and I slept and then I did it all again. There had been a point where Uncle Souhei took it upon himself to teach me the trick to chakra flow—he might have felt bad that I had no sensei to mind my development, and he seemed to enjoy the chance to observe me work—but beyond that I can't recall anything of significance happening at all.

It took a long time for gaping wound that was the remains of Team 11 to stop bleeding. By the time we were ready to try prodding it again, we were a little too raw to tell anyone else about what we were really feeling. Perhaps that was why neither Akihiko or I were able to help each other in a really meaningful way; if we had, it wouldn't have been so hard to for us to rely on each other. Both then, and later on...

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the uneventful chapter. To make up for it, I posted a sidestory involving Souhei and Hayato, so take a look at that if it tickles your fancy.

What do you guys think of the new cover image? It was a lot of fun to make. Sorry it's so colorless, though, haha. I have horrible shading skills so I tend to conceal it by means of black-and-white palettes.

Well, that's it for now. As always, sorry for typos. Drop a review if you can!

Cheers,

Eiruiel

* * *

Notes:

1\. "' _...It probably would have worked fine as it was if we'd just fixed that.'"_

Minato is too nice to say it, but I'm not. It was utter crap, and Suzu's a sealing _scrub_.

But with that said, she's also significantly more intelligent in the rewrite than she was in the previous draft. I'd been too timid to try writing a properly smart character because I didn't think I could pull it off without making her into a Mary Sue, so you see a lot of exaggerated overreactions where I'd originally intended to have cooler analysis. With proper foreshadowing to stave off deux ex machinas and asspulls, though, hopefully I can get it right.


	7. Death Valley (1)

**Published: 10/16/2016**

 **Edited: 4/17/2017**

* * *

 _Dear Suzu,_

 _Just writing to let you know I'm still alive, as requested. The mission here is stalling a bit, so I wanted to fire off a few letters to change things up anyway._

 _You said the people of Tea Country were decently friendly, but I must disagree. I've never met more untalkative fellows in my life. Whisperings of a new Hidden Village down here have been circulating all over the place, but no matter how many leads I chase—when I find leads to chase at all—they refuse to say a thing about the source of this info. I've yet to hear anyone breathe a helpful word about their actual physical location, and that's even after I've made friends with street rats in every possible corner of this country. The east, the west, the north and the south, wherever I go, they all just point in the opposite direction and say "Over there."_

 _As you might guess, it's been frustrating. I've wasted a lot of time running after the wind down here. Never fear, though! Jiraiya the Gallant has not given up yet. I still have a few tricks left to try. I'll let you know if I find any success. I'm sure I will._

 _Wishing you good health. No need to write back. Even if you try and send it with one of Minato's toads, I won't be in one place long enough to receive it._

 _I'll write again when I get the chance._

 _Your friend,_

 _Jiraiya_

* * *

The mission that marked the end of Akihiko's short chuunin career began with a man pretending to be a jounin.

He was very obviously not a jounin. If he'd been one of the jounin, he would've been up at the front of the caravan with the rest of officers, discussing our travel plans and arranging watches and deciding who was scouting first. As it was, he spent the whole time sitting on one of the carts, perched atop a stack of crates and gazing about with hawk-like eyes. Every few minutes he would murmur quietly under his breath into the mic concealed by his vest's collar. He wasn't trying too hard to keep up the pretense—he gave me a remarkably explicit "yes, I see you too, now stop with your conspicuous gawping" look when he caught me staring—so I concluded after a moment of consideration that he had camouflaged himself not for our sakes, but for the sakes of whatever enemy shinobi we might encounter on the journey. Any scouts who looked his way would probably just mistake him for a regular Leaf-nin, which would grant him an element of surprise that would have been otherwise lost if had he been wearing an ANBU uniform.

It was a little surprising to see him, but I supposed that that was just a testament to the scale of the operation. Nearly every nonessential chuunin had been called upon to participate in this mission, and it was shaping up to be one of Konoha's largest logistics operations to date. Three battalions' worth of reinforcements—three hundred shinobi—were heading out to join the battle at the western front, where Iwa was still hammering away at our forces. Accompanying these three battalions would be an entire supply caravan, escorted by a company made up of us and every other spare chuunin in the village. Once the battalions had settled themselves into the campaign, our company would then collect the wounded and the dead and bring them, along with the leftover transport equipment, back home.

If all went according to plan, we wouldn't see combat. If we encountered any enemies on the way, the three battalions would deal with them, and we would be moving quickly enough on the return journey to be a hard target. And even if we did get into a situation we couldn't run from, I was now aware that we had an ANBU squad up our sleeves to deal with it. Odds were we'd be just fine.

A note of Akihiko at the gates behind me quieted my thoughts. If one could equate chakra to sound, that's what I would describe it as: a pitch. In his case, a thing somewhere in the middle octave, maybe something a tenor could sing. Lower than me, but higher than the ANBU man off to my right.

Most people had notes to them. Even civilians did, though I often had a harder time hearing them. And sometimes, if I molded my chakra and concentrated hard, I could pick up other little pitches that made the single notes into intervals and chords. Lately it had occurred to me that this must be what it was like to be a chakra sensor, and that these little notes were me learning to distinguish between different chakra signatures.

Perhaps it was only because he was a childhood friend, but the sound of Akihiko was pleasant and comforting. Its base was a major third, two ascending notes that were filled with the promise of more to come: something deep and dark and energetic. Maybe, if I had to put a name on it, I'd call it a major seventh. Even that wasn't quite the right way to describe it, though. It was a hard thing to put into words.

I turned to watch his approach and noticed with amusement that he was looking at the ANBU man with a slight slant to his eyebrow. Before I could help it, I followed his gaze and found myself staring again. The ANBU swiveled his head around to shoot us both chiding, if not somewhat irritated, glances.

"That's not a jounin," Akihiko muttered to me as I dutifully looked away once more.

"No, definitely not," I agreed. "But I think he'd rather we not be too loud about that."

Akihiko was quiet for a moment, gaze distant with thought. And then, likely having come to the same conclusion I had, he shrugged and turned his face in the other direction. There was beat of silence.

"Um, happy birthday," I said after deciding that now was as good a time as any to give him the present I'd brought. I my hands together and holding out the box I'd been clutching.

A look of utter surprise took over Akihiko's face. His expression was so startled that I wondered if he'd forgotten his own birthday. But then a small, touched smile bloomed on his lips, and my nascent inquiry was silenced with a look of sunny fondness that I suddenly realized I hadn't seen from him in… how long? Too long. Even though he hadn't been looking particularly angry or sour, the effect softened his expression considerably.

"Thanks," he said as he took the box. It was not too big to grip in one hand, so he held it in his left and popped the top off with his right. A red-frosted cupcake with a little "10" decoration was produced.

"It's vanilla," Akihiko observed with some amount of pleasure. People always seemed to assume he was a chocolate sort of guy, but several years of friendship with him had equipped me with the knowledge that he rather disliked it as a cake flavor.

"It'd be a pretty bad present if I gave you something you didn't like," I replied dryly, though I was quietly encouraged by his reaction. "It's bad enough that it's perishable, to be honest. Especially since we're about to go on a mission."

In reply, Akihiko proceeded without preamble to pluck off the plastic topper, peel back the wrapper, and take an enormous bite of the confection, smearing red icing across the tip of his nose in the process. I found myself bursting into startled laughter, suddenly feeling better than I had all week. It was the silliest, most lighthearted, Akihiko-like thing he'd done in months.

"Want some?" he asked through a mouthful of cupcake, holding out a crumbling handful of its bisected remains in offering.

"I'll pass," I replied with an achingly familiar mix of amusement and disgust. Akihiko grinned knowingly, chewed and swallowed hugely, and then crammed the rest of it into his mouth.

Despite all the accoutrements of adulthood that had accumulated on his person—live kunai, a hitai-ate, a chuunin vest that had come to embody everything innocence-shattering about this war—he looked like a kid again. Like a little boy stuffing his face full of sugar.

I laughed again. At the very least, there was still this.

* * *

Though the summer had been hot, Konoha had been enjoying very fair weather when we'd left. Mid-September had brought about a pleasant, breezy autumn prelude, so a long travelling mission had not seemed like a terribly bad idea at the time. Despite its name, after all, Fire Country was not a particularly hot territory. It was true that the sun could be rather scorching, but the shade of tall trees was ample, and the wind was always there to stir the air beneath their branches. We had lakes and rivers and water all around, too.

All of that changed when we made it to the border of Grass and Earth. The trees had fallen away into flat prairie some time ago, but the wind had still been blowing nicely. Now it suddenly seemed to die. The grass thinned and gave way to rocky, cracked soil, and a weight of unmoving air seemed suddenly to fall atop us, crushing the whole world with stagnant aridity.

Akihiko and I groaned. Fair-haired, pale-skinned Namikazes as we were, we had donned extra layers to stave off sunburn the moment we reached Kusa territory; Akihiko had put on a thin hooded sweatshirt and I'd equipped myself with large kerchief and a loose long-sleeved shirt. Consequently, we had been relying quite heavily on those pert, cheerful gusts to stay cool. Their sudden absence was noted very acutely, and what had been a week of pleasant walking soon morphed into a sweaty, dusty, miserable march.

Despite their insistence that children who were shinobi were no longer children, ninjas never quite stopped looking after their kids. We were chuunin, technically, and we were expected to be able to push on through our discomfort like proper soldiers, but the man who was steering the cart next to us saw us, looked upon us pityingly, and invited us to sit with him on the driver's bench.

I wasted no time in jumping up next to him. Akihiko hesitated—normally, he would have tried sticking it out, if only to be a little more manly—but he was more practical than he was prideful, and a beat later he was sitting down as well.

"I'm Shouwa," the cart-driver introduced himself, raising a hand in greeting.

"I'm Akihiko," Akihiko replied and leaned forward so he could peer around me. "This is Suzu," he added.

Shouwa was an older man with a faintly lined face and salt-and-pepper hair. His hitai-ate was battered and scratched, and though his middle age indicated that he was a career chuunin, there was no doubting that he had seen his fair share of the battlefield. The long, thin scar running across his jawbone indicated that he'd seen his way out of at least one close call.

"You two with Haneda's group?" he asked us curiously. "I'm shipping out under Morisaki this time, but I heard that he and Haneda like to mix teams on occasion."

Haneda and Morisaki, if I recalled correctly, were two of the three jounin in charge of the battalions. I had the vague impression that the third was an Aburame.

"No, we're in Iki's company," Akihiko shook his head. "We're not staying to fight."

"Oh, I see." Shouwa scratched his head and looked a little surprised. "That's a shame. Too bad, eh? Bet you would've liked the chance to try your hand on the battlefield. My son Kouji—he's probably only a little older than you—has been dying to make himself a name out there. It's all he talks about these days."

Akihiko and I exchanged glances. Maybe, back when we had been the invincible Team 11 of hopes and dreams and limitless potential, the prospect would have excited us. We, too, had played the games of ninja, after all. We'd spent our childhoods pretending to be famous shinobi, Hokages and clan heads and other legendary war heroes. The quest for glory had been present to us since our earliest days. Now, though, the thought of returning to the front lines made me feel just a little sick.

"We'll pass," Akihiko spoke for both of us when he put a hand on his neck and looked away. "Names aren't all that great anyway."

Puzzlement flitted across Shouwa's face. For a moment, he seemed surprised by our lack of enthusiasm. But then he took on a knowing look, and I found myself thinking that he knew exactly what Akihiko meant. He had probably lived it himself. Maybe even multiple times, considering his age. One could lose a lot of friends in the time it took to start growing gray hair.

"I see," he said. And then he grinned in a determined way, like he didn't want to give the moment over to angsty musings. "You two are a cheerful pair, aren't you? And here I was, hoping that you'd make for better conversation than this grump back here."

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the ANBU man. He was still seated upon his throne of crates, as he'd been all week. In a surprise move, though, he let out a sigh and looked down at us.

"I'm in the middle of a job right now," the shinobi informed exasperatedly in the first words I'd heard him utter since the mission began.

He was younger than I'd realized. I thought he'd been something like a mid-thirties man, but upon closer examination, he was probably only twenty or so—maybe Itsuki-sensei's age at the very oldest. His voice was not as deep as I thought it would be, either. He was almost like a teenager.

"We're all in the middle of a job right now," Shouwa retorted. "You can still talk and be combat-ready, you know."

The ANBU rolled his eyes. Then he put his elbows on his knees, leaned forward, and asked, "What do you want to talk about?"

He must have been very bored. It takes a certain amount of effort and a very specific set of circumstances to get an ANBU to speak unnecessarily during a mission. I know this for a fact; I've made friends with a good number of them over the years, and even the most sociable will limit nonessential interactions to slight head-tilts and small gestures. It took a whole slew of painkillers and my most humorous story about a squirrel in the daimyo's throne room to get a bodyguard to even sign the word "laugh" at me.

"Start with your name," Shouwa chided. "Don't you have any manners?"

The ANBU put his cheek on his fist with a look of disapproval. "Nosy," he said, admonishingly.

Shouwa cocked an eyebrow.

"Susumu, then," the ANBU sighed.

Even though we'd tried to play it cool when we'd first seen him, Akihiko and I both couldn't help but stare at him now. Truth be told, neither of us had ever met an ANBU before. Amongst village children they were something like urban legends. He was almost a mythical creature, and now that he was talking, there was no stopping the rush of questions that followed.

"Do you have animal summons?" Akihiko blurted with eyes wide.

The so-called Susumu snorted. "You'll forgive me if I don't disclose that information to you," he said. "Even if we weren't in enemy territory right now, I wouldn't tell you that."

"But do you know any badass jutsu?" my teammate pressed, undeterred.

"A few," Susumu allowed as he let out a quiet huff. "But I won't show them to you."

"Then have you been to Earth Country before?"

"I have."

Akihiko's face brightened. "Do you know any doton?"

"Yes."

Shouwa and I exchanged glances as a back-and-forth volley of inquiry and answer began. Susumu gave off an air of perfect nonchalance with his detached, laconic responses, but the mere fact that he was continuing to engage was rather telling.

"I think he might like him," Shouwa said, sotto voce, with a look of surprise on his face.

"Maybe he's being nice because it was his birthday," I speculated in reply.

Susumu and Akihiko, of course, heard this teasing play loud and clear, and stopped speaking long enough to send us identical glares. I ducked my chin and swallowed a giggle; Shouwa held up his hands with a grin.

The rest of the morning proceeded uneventfully. Much to Akihiko's disappointment, Susumu vanished when we broke for lunch. His mood plummeted abysmally, unhelped by the ever-mounting heat; added to that, we had come up to a large, untraversable canyon, and were now being forced to trek all the way to its edge so we could pass. Morale in general took a bit of a hit at that.

Before Akihiko could spread his bad mood to the rest of us, though, the mysterious man suddenly reappeared in the afternoon, looking like he'd never left. My friend was restored to good spirits, and with much pestering managed to get him to treat us to a short discourse on the Body Flicker technique. Akihiko and I never got the chance to learn how to shunshin from Itsuki-sensei, so I admit that I was not totally inattentive.

He had surprising insights into the technique, and several of the tips he detailed in the chakra-molding process appeared to be novel even to Shouwa. Akihiko and I were learning forward intently, focused on his quiet lecture, when our ANBU suddenly stopped mid-sentence.

"Where?" he asked, and we blinked confusedly until we realized that he was speaking into his mic. Shouwa immediately sharpened to attention.

"No, there's nothing," Susumu replied, looking to the east. "How many did you see?"

There were several seconds of silence. Then Susumu stood up on his crate perch, brow creasing, and stared out over the sea of horses, carts, and shinobi rolling across the wasteland around us. The moment stretched until it seemed like nothing else would be said; eventually, though, his eyes narrowed.

"No, have Shou stay where he is," he said sharply. "If it's bait, I don't want to take it."

There was a pause as he listened to the reply. Then he said, "No, it won't work. There are too many of us for that. If there's an ambush, I'll break it; stopping everyone here would only make us a better target."

Alarm shot through all of us at word "ambush." Shouwa opened his mouth to speak, but Susumu held up a hand, silencing him.

There was a rumble. Our ANBU immediately sank into a ready stance, bending his knees and bringing his arms up, as he readied himself to leap off in any direction. The transformation was a little breathtaking; in a single movement, he sharpened from placid aloofness into raw lethality, one second a curt stranger and the next a naked blade.

The ground began to shake. The rest of the ninjas around us began to murmur with wary looks on their faces as they slowly drew kunai and put hands on sword hilts. Heads began to turn in search for the source of the noise.

I shoved some chakra together and listened hard, wondering if I could perhaps hear our enemies approaching. A buzzing symphony of Leaf-nin filled my ears. I did my best to ignore them, searching for any sounds farther out and away from the caravan, but no matter how hard I concentrated, I could hear nothing that I hadn't heard all week.

My brow furrowed. It could have just been that I wasn't skilled enough to parse out all of the different chakra emissions, but a vague suspicion began to form in my gut. I turned my head and surveyed the landscape. We were right at the edge of the canyon...

I looked down. What I saw then was the last thing any of us wanted to see: cracks spidering out across the ground below us.

"The cliff's going to come down," I said, almost blankly, as I turned my head to look at the chasm beside us. It was a perfect spot for a landslide.

Susumu didn't swear, although nearly everyone else in hearing range did. Instead, he quickly threw out an arm and pointed ahead.

"Move!" he bellowed. "Now!"

Shunshins began to pop in my ears at once, filling the air with the sound of chakra pinging and chiming. It was a strangely dissonant melody; I'd never heard so many chakra signatures flare at once in my life. I spent a moment listening fascinatedly. Then I jerked back to reality as the cart we were on lurched forward.

Several things happened at once. The horses charged forward; shinobi cursed and dodged away before they could be run over; Susumu very nearly fell off his crate tower. The ground beneath us began to come apart. The cracks widened into fissures, and the fissures began to shift.

"Shit," Shouwa said, and then threw his reins to the side and bailed off the cart. Akihiko and I gaped. Then we really panicked, standing up so we could try and get off the cart ourselves.

My ears filled with the sound of roaring as the cliff crumbled away.

* * *

It was over nearly as soon as it had begun. Skidding to a stop atop a mound of dust and dirt and boulders, Susumu immediately dumped me and my teammate on the ground before springing away in soundless shunshin. We barely registered it; instead, we groaned disorientedly and began crawling about on our hands and knees in an attempt to gather our bearings.

Once we had righted ourselves, we looked up and found that destruction the landslide had caused was stunning. No words other than "total disaster" could describe it. The horses were a little ways off to our left, half-crushed by boulders and horrifically broken-necked. The splintered remains of the cart were sprinkled everywhere, along with all of the supplies, and a stomach-turning number of bodies were scattered about the debris. Some were half-buried in the rocks, writhing in pain. Some were groaning and clutching their arms or legs or sides. Most of them weren't moving at all.

"Oh my God," I said.

Akihiko, still on his knees beside me, sat up with a look of blank disbelief. For a moment, all we could do was stare at the carnage. It was the first time either of us had ever witnessed the magnitude of the Third War's violence first-hand. The torture in the Iwa bunker and the killing of Yoshiya had been unquestionably savage—and even now I could still slide away into the memory of that last day, lying for hours in a pool of his blood with his corpse still upon my back—but as terrible as it had been, we had only been a few individuals. This was slaughter on a completely different scale.

We were still staring in dazed silence when Susumu reappeared, the arm of an unconscious chuunin slung over his shoulder.

"Get up," he commanded, quietly but forcefully. Blood from the chuunin's leg was smeared all over his side. "There's no time to shell-shocked. Get down there and help the survivors."

His words were enough to snap us out of our stupor. Scrambling to our feet, Akihiko and I slid down the pile toward the nearest cluster of survivors.

The death toll at the outset was seventy-three shinobi—roughly a quarter of the reinforcements, not counting those who belonged to Iki's company. We had many injured, though, and it was likely that number would be higher before the day was up. We needed to reunite with the rest of our forces at once.

Unfortunately, running up the wall of the canyon was impossible. Even if one were to use chakra, there was no way to transport the injured back up. The distance was just too great; we were miles below where we had begun. Not that it mattered, course. I doubted most of us could make that sort of climb anyway. Tree-walking—or in this case, cliff-walking—was a basic skill, but it was not one meant for use across great heights. The muscle strain and the chakra stress was too intensive for anyone but a jounin, or perhaps a high chuunin, to tolerate.

After everyone both dead and alive had been gathered together in one spot, Susumu spent a few frustrated minutes yelling into his headset in attempt to communicate with his squad. Its designated range of use, however, was small, and the high walls of the canyon were interfering with the signal, so his attempts were mostly futile. I doubted radios on Earth would malfunction over something like this, but it was what it was; the technology of the Narutoverse was just not at that level. In the end, he was forced to break out a hawk summon and trade messages with them the old-fashioned way.

Something of a plan began to emerge. While the medically knowledgeable among us began to triage and treat the wounded, those who were able-bodied were charged with venturing deeper into the valley to search out a way back up to the surface. Because Captain Haneda was staying with the injured, along with the shinobi who had training in iryou-ninjutsu, Susumu was put in charge of the rest of us.

The general mood was quite foul. It went without saying that the vast, vast majority of us were feeling positively shitty. It was hot, we were aching, the enemy had just kicked our asses and killed our comrades, and now we were trapped at the bottom of a miles-deep chasm wandering aimlessly in an attempt to find a way out. Who would be anything other than peevish in this situation? Snappish remarks and irritated, under-the-breath insults abounded.

We were all trudging along in irate silence when I heard something odd ahead of us. It was chakra, definitely, but it was no kind of chakra I'd ever encountered before. Something about it differed from what I heard from my comrades: a different timbre, a different key, something made of foreign intervals and distinctly not-Konoha sounds. There was no mistaking that these signatures did not belong to allies. I tugged on Shouwa's sleeve and mumbled at him.

There was a bit of a quarrel over whether or not I ought to be trusted. A group of three men demanded to know if I had ever received formal sensory training, and decided that I was just a dipshit who ought to be ignored when they found out I hadn't. A few others became angry on my behalf and defended my status as a natural sensor despite having no previous knowledge of my abilities at all. I began to feel that everyone was stupid, and regretted opening my mouth to say anything at all.

As we walked farther, though, it became clear that I had spoken the truth: there was a small group of people standing off the distance, milling about in decidedly not-green uniforms. My detractors went quiet, but I was too tetchy and overheated to feel vindicated.

"I can see them," Shouwa said unnecessarily as he shaded his eyes with his hand. "Just ahead. As she said… enemy shinobi. They must have fallen in the landslide, too."

"Get ready for a fight, then," someone behind me muttered and gripped a kunai.

"Did they really get stuck in their own jutsu?" another asked caustically. "Idiots…"

"You're one to talk. You're down here, too."

"Stop bickering," Susumu snapped, and the group immediately fell silent. "They've seen us… it looks like they're sending someone forward. Hold your attack for now, but be ready."

Susumu zipped to the front of the group in a half of a blink of the eye. No one made any move to stop him. Out of all of us, he was probably the most qualified to treat with hostiles; he would be able to react in time if any foul play went on.

"Greetings, Leaf shinobi," the enemy emissary called when he was several hundred yards away. He was not an Iwa-nin as I had thought, but a Kumo-nin. A Kumo jounin, judging by his clothes. How unexpected. What were Cloud shinobi doing here in the aftermath of a classic Iwagakure landslide?

Susumu crossed his arms and gave the man the most unimpressed look of utter contempt I had ever seen. I looked at the blood still caked on his side and thought it was appropriate. There probably was no other face to make, not when facing the people who spilled that blood in the first place.

"Kumo-nin," Susumu said once the jounin had made his over to us, in a voice that cut through bullshit like butter. "Give me one reason not to kill you where you stand."

The Kumo-nin stared. Then, realizing the pointlessness of his overly polite demeanor, he dropped all pretense and shifted a defensive foot back, ready to leap into combat at a moment's notice.

"It wouldn't be to your advantage," he said warily, looking as though he desperately wanted to put his hand on his holster and was refraining only through momentous self-control. "If you let me live, we can help each other."

"Right," Susumu replied flatly. His disbelief was so plain it was almost tangible. "That will definitely happen."

"It should," the Kumo jounin retorted. "Tell me, do you think you can escape this place without a guide? Do you think you can just wander out? This gorge is one of Tsuchi no Kuni's greatest natural defenses. You'll die down here without our assistance."

Susumu gave no reaction to the proclamation of impending doom. Sizing his interlocutor up, he asked instead, "What's in it for you? Just escape yourselves and leave us to our fate, then."

The jounin spread his hands out in a sign of peace before pointing to the heavy packs we were all carrying. Susumu's suspicious gaze seemed to ease a bit with the emergence of a motive, and he made a noise of comprehension.

"Supplies," he murmured and crossed his arms contemplatively. "I'm assuming you don't have any, then."

"Nothing beyond our usual field packs, no," the jounin confirmed. "And it won't be nearly enough. Not for a jaunt through Death Valley, anyway."

I heard a collectively repressed snort surge through the group with surprising synchronism. Death Valley... what an uninspired name.

"How do you plan to see us out of here, then?" Susumu asked critically. "You're no Iwa-nin. How can we trust that you actually know your way around?"

In reply, the Cloud shinobi turned slightly and looked back to his group. There was a bit of shuffling; then a trio of short shinobi found their way to the front of the pack. They looked quite small compared to the people around them.

"Do you see those boys there?" the jounin pointed. "They're a team from Iwa. They know how to get through."

Susumu went silent. For a long moment, he only stood and stared at the Kumo jounin, eyes sharp and expression unreadable. Then, finally, he said, "Let me confer with my allies."

The group burst into the chatter the moment he returned to us. Shouwa said something, only to be drowned out by the angry voices of the three men. Several others began speaking, too.

Susumu held up a hand. "Quiet," he said. "One at a time. Tell me your thoughts."

"It's a trap," the kunoichi behind me immediately said. "There's no doubt. They don't need us. They'll stab us in the back the moment our guards are down, take our supplies, and run."

"I agree," another person declared. "We're a disposable factor in this equation. We should refuse."

"But how will we find our way out otherwise?" a teenaged chuunin objected. "They're right. We can't just stroll around and expect to find an exit."

"We have hawks scouting, don't we? We'll find it eventually."

"But do we have time for that?" Shouwa asked. "We have supplies, but they're limited. We don't have everything we need, either, and we have several wounded comrades behind us. Will they last while we wait for the summons to finish searching?"

Watching the debate in silence, Susumu spent several minutes listening to the group argue before he spoke again. When he did, though, the chatter quickly quieted.

"All right," he said. "I've come to a decision. We will go with them. However," he glared when he saw several mouths open to protest, "I agree with the assessment that we are disposable to them. They don't need us—they need our stuff, and they will be looking to take us out of the picture. Treachery is inevitable."

"So what are we going to do, then?"

"We'll be taking hostages," Susumu replied, unflinching. "We're taking the team from Iwa. It will be a non-negotiable condition."

A low murmur picked up at that. Dauntless, Susumu paid it no mind and turned back to the Kumo jounin.

The jounin's expression became flinty when Susumu laid out his terms, and there was a long, tense staring match. The man put on his most intimidating face—and, to be fair, it was not an ineffective one, especially when matched against Susumu's youthful countenance—but our ANBU's sheer force of personality and grade-A glare eventually won out. After a tiny eternity, the Kumo-nin finally surrendered.

"Fine," he barely refrained from spitting. "We accept. Hayanari and his team will stay with you until we reach the end of the valley. But only until then. They come back to us the moment we're out."

"And no sooner," Susumu said coolly. "Very well. We will cooperate with you until the conditions of this agreement are fulfilled."

The jounin merely scowled and turned to stalk away.

"Beware, Cloud ninja," Susumu said to his back, voice softening dangerously. "The moment you turn your blades on us, escape from this valley will become the least of your concerns. Think carefully before moving in the coming days. We have already lost people to you. Mercy will not be forthcoming."

The Kumo ninja stopped and looked at him over his shoulder, expression unreadable. He was still for a moment; then he walked away.

* * *

A/N: I'm so sorry for the wait, guys. I know it's been well over a month. This chapter would have come out much sooner, but I became very ill before I managed to write the last scene. It was a week-long sickness that left me pretty much unable to do anything but sleep and drag myself to the doctor. And after that I had to play a horrific game of catch-up to keep on top of my classes; this is pretty much the first free moment I've had since September ended.

To make up for it, though, the chapter is over six thousand words long—the longest chapter of the rewrite so far. It might be a little bit more disjointed than usual due to its length and the amount of time it took to write it, but I hope it's good enough!

Thank you all for your patience. As always, I apologize for any typos!

Cheers,

Eiruiel


	8. Death Valley (2)

**Published: 6/19/2017**

* * *

The technique… needed some work.

It wasn't the seals. The seals performed beautifully; as I twisted chakra in my palm and carefully envisioned each component and mechanism of it in turn, just as Minato had instructed me, a halo of black ink blossomed on Hayanari's arm just as he was jumping away. A cheerful G-flat chimed at my hip, the familiar sound of my own chakra activating the storage seal, and wire materialized between him and my forearm, where my cousin had carefully inked and concealed the third and final seal. I grasped the mass of steel threads with both hands and yanked as hard as I could. Hayanari's arm jerked back awkwardly, causing him to yelp and drop the kunai in his hand, and he was prevented from stabbing Akihiko in the side.

This was the part of the technique that worked well. The part that did not work well was the part where Hayanari called for Iwao and Iwao dove down at us from the air, landed on the wires connecting myself and his teammate, and sent us both tumbling into the ground. He quickly cut his teammate loose before taking his kunai and stabbing it into the ground, neatly pinning me down in the process. Ichiei sprinted forward engage Akihiko as I struggled free my arm.

With assistance from Akihiko cut off, Iwao took the opportunity to dive on me. After fumblingly taking a knife to the wires, I rolled over and just barely managed to get a leg up in time to knee him in the gut. I grimaced as spit flew from Iwao's mouth and onto my face, but also took the opportunity his choking gasp presented to straighten out my leg and go for a shameless nut shot. Iwao went tumbling off me with a groan of agony, and I rolled to my feet and disengaged, dodging back out of range.

Just as I had reoriented myself, I caught sight of Akihiko putting a decisive heel into Ichiei's face. I paused for a moment to admire my friend's unfailingly flawless taijutsu. His form was clean and straight-lined, positioned as always for perfect balance. His knee bent fluidly as his arms came up, and he posed himself perfectly to flip away or defend if someone tried to unroot him while his foot was in the air. Even though my hand-to-hand was better than my ninjutsu, I reflected, it was still nothing compared to his ability. It wasn't even just a matter of him knowing higher the tiers of Hurricane Gale—though of course he did—because his mastery shone through in his execution of even the most basic maneuvers.

My moment of appreciation was interrupted as Hayanari, who had also gotten to his feet and reoriented himself, charged at me with a yell. I quickly ducked under a swipe of his tantou and cuffed him in the back of the knee. His foundation crumpled, but as he was going down, he reached out, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and dragged me with him.

There was a moment of heart-stopping, sightless panic as I remembered Hatsuta's fingers on my scalp—saw his arm, felt his nails _in my_ _hair_ —before I wrenched my head free and smashed my fist into Hayanari's nose. He responded with an open-palmed strike to the chin, and we began rolling in the dirt, yanking at each other's shirt collars and trying to pull off elbow strikes between all the grabbing and kicking.

"Hayanari, their allies are coming!" Iwao suddenly yelled. "I think the diversion failed!"

Hayanari cursed and doubled down with renewed urgency. Suddenly I found our positions flipped, and then he was bearing down on me with his dagger, using his superior leverage drive through my block. I braced my arms against the onslaught, but was unable to force him back enough to lock them effectively. The blade of his tantou glanced off my forehead protector and sliced across my cheekbone, right below the eye. Hayanari went in for the finishing blow.

Then he stopped. I gasped and was subsequently open-mouthed when the gush of blood sprayed me in the face. Akihiko, blue eyes narrowed to a sharpened point, put the heel of his palm under his kunai's handle and shoved Hayanari off me with a grunt of exertion. Blood went spurting up into the air in a gory parody of a miniature fountain.

I immediately rolled over and spat until my mouth was empty and dry. Then I wiped a hand across my eyes and thought, dumbly, about transfusion-transmitted diseases, and about whether HBV was widespread in Earth Country.

"Thanks," I said breathlessly as Akihiko grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet, panting. He nodded, and we took a moment to stare at each other in winded silence; then we looked at Hayanari, who was lying on his side with a look of shock. Slowly, he lifted a hand to touch the hilt of the knife stuck in his neck.

"Hayanari!" The silence was broken when twin screams ripped from the throats of Ichiei and Iwao. They scrambled to their feet, Ichiei with his hands on his nose and Iwao with an uncomfortable hop in his gait. Akihiko and I leaped back in synchronization as they flew by, but they ignored us and went to their knees at their teammate's side.

"Hayanari!" Iwao gasped in terror, grabbing the boy's shoulders and pulling him into a sitting position. "Oh... oh. Oh my God."

"Wait! Stop!" Ichiei garbled through his hands. "There's neck damage! Don't move him!"

Hayanari lowered his arm and let out a little cough, blood bubbling up over his lip. Panicking, his teammates hovered over him, pulling on each other and babbling frightenedly and looking at his wound but not daring to touch the fatal blade still lodged within it. Unsure of what to do, Akihiko and I watched, mute and still, as they floundered.

Incognizant of all this, Hayanari's wandering eyes, which had been roaming the skyline confusedly, eventually found their way to us. His gaze seemed to focus, just for a moment, and Akihiko tensed up fantastically. But before either of them could say anything, Hayanari's sight glazed over, and his head fell slack against Iwao's chest.

Ichiei and Iwao ceased in their frenzy and fell silent. For a long moment, they knelt in the dust and stared at him, seeming not to comprehend. But then, eventually, they turned their heads.

"You…" Iwao uttered at us. He stood; support removed, Hayanari's body thudded lifelessly onto the ground.

"What?" Akihiko's response was hard, monosyllabic, and contained just the faintest echo of horror. His feet shifted, and his fingers twitched towards his holster as if to draw a new kunai. I found myself taking a step back.

Ichiei rose then, too, dropping his arms to reveal a bloody and most certainly broken nose. The air between us, silent and empty, slowly filled with the sounds of our comrades in distant battle. Muffled shouts and metallic clangs began to ring in our ears, growing ever closer.

As one, Iwao and Ichiei pulled in their elbows and yelled. Charging forward with inarticulate rage, kunai were drawn and bodies were braced for renewed battle. Biting my lip, I slid a foot back and brought up my arm, considering how to counter the next attack.

But the next attack never came. Before they had even really entered striking range, a pair of kunai went sailing over our heads and embedded themselves in our adversaries' faces, in an eye each and straight to the brain. Akihiko and I spun around so fast it was a wonder we didn't give ourselves whiplash.

Susumu was standing on a boulder behind us. He was even more blood spattered than he had been when we'd last seen him. As he lowered his arm and regarded the twitching bodies now appended to what was already an assuredly long list of kills, his lips twisted into a severe frown.

"They ought to have known better than to be blinded by anger, if they were made into chuunin at that age," he said as he eyed them critically.

Akihiko and I could only stare at him in dumbstruck silence, unable to reply. I could tell by the look on my friend's face that neither of us had sensed his presence. And that, I realized—even though we knew he was our ally—discomfited us both greatly. He had had a prime view of our unguarded, unseeing backsides, and if he had been of the mind to aim those kunai just a little lower, we would have been dead before we'd known it.

Susumu, though, took our silence with a different meaning, and looked sidelong at us. "I'm sorry to have interfered in your fight," he said, with enough sincerity for me realize with twisted fascination that he might have truly meant it—that he was truly sorry he hadn't given us the chance to finish them off ourselves. "But we don't have a lot of time. We need to rejoin the others before we get flanked. We're easy pickings as we are now."

Akihiko struggled to find his voice. "I—We—" he stammered, glancing back to the bodies, looking up at Susumu, and then glancing back again. "That's… that's okay," he finished weakly, finally returning his eyes to Susumu in all his bloody glory.

If I was worried over a bit of gore in my mouth, I had no idea what magnitude of concern would be appropriate for the state Susumu was in. He was positively drenched. I couldn't even imagine what sort of violence had transpired around him today. The only thing that could be certain was that it had been a bloodbath.

Either oblivious to or unaffected by our disgusted mesmerization, though, Susumu just turned and jerked his chin over his shoulder. The command to follow was clear. He sprang away without a single glance back; we were left to stand over the extinguished remains of the team from Iwagakure in silence, breathing heavy and shoulders still tight with interrupted anticipation.

* * *

The battle ended in a rout for the enemy shinobi. Their tactic, to seize the supplies and rescue their guides, had been to stage a backstabbing operation right before dawn. In theory, it had been a good plan; we were a much smaller force than them, so all they had needed to do overwhelm us to was position themselves well and attack from both sides.

Matters did not quite pan out as they had planned. Though it was clear that they had had a clever tactician among them—someone experienced in crafting military strategy, who might have even been a tactical officer—this particular squad of ANBU was exceptional, in both skill and determination. Oh, the Cloud shinobi had done as much as they could have—they had clearly put two and two together regarding our plainclothes agent, and special action had been taken specifically to separate Susumu from the rest of the group—but he was Special Operations and he had training and experience above and beyond that of even well-seasoned strategists. No one could have anticipated the sheer level of hypercompetence he and his team would bring to the field.

It was years and years later that I learned the man who called himself Susumu was a lieutenant of the First Division; that is, he was a captain handpicked by First Division head, who was the ANBU Commander himself. With that in consideration, perhaps it was not unexpected that their countermeasures had decimated the Cloud shinobi so completely. ANBU was the spearhead of the Special Forces, and they had been crafted specifically to neutralize threats exactly like these in exactly these sorts of circumstances. Alone in a foreign country, against incredible numeric odds, was precisely the sort of situation in which they thrived. The village must have been expecting they might be needed to diffuse a disaster situation such as this one.

"All right, all of you. I'm going to explain our plan of action," Susumu said lowly, faced away from the prying eyes and ears of the Cloud shinobi encamped nearby. All around us, the rest of the company was nonchalantly listening in, pretending to be engaged in cleaning their weapons, having conversations, or other activities. Susumu's hawk was silently circling overhead.

"Confirmation just came in from the rest of my squad: the enemy has allies on the outside. I suspected as much; it seemed unlikely that three young chuunin would be assigned to guide a contingent of Cloud shinobi through a hot zone like this one. In reality, the group you see here is actually only a small portion of a larger force under the command of one of Kumo's most high-profile ninjas, the son of the Third Raikage himself: A the Unruly."

There was a lull in the manufactured murmurs. Several people paused to look at Susumu over their shoulders.

Susumu continued. "The likely scenario is that the team from Iwa had been assigned to collapse part of the cliff in the initial attack, but failed to control their jutsu perfectly and ended up sweeping themselves, along with the men you see here, down to the valley floor. Now, this is lucky. When my team scouted ahead, they found that A's group has moved on. The shinobi you see here have been left for dead—or, at the very least, are expected to escape and catch up on their own. But while this is good in that it means we only have them to deal with, it's bad in that it indicates that A and his men are in a hurry, which can only mean that a renewed attack is imminent. Consequently, our mission has become that much more crucial. We must escape from here as quickly as possible, with as many supplies and as much manpower as possible."

Susumu went on to detail the likelihood of a nighttime sneak attack and what we were going to do about it. An agenda formed of blisteringly efficient resource management was laid out: he split our party into two groups, assigned them targets—specifically those who had comported themselves in leadership roles, one such being the Kumo jounin who had negotiated the truce with us—and instructed them to act as a strike team to confuse the enemy's chain of command. While our attackers were regrouping, he would use a flock of his animal summons to help our limited number of fighters harass and delay their organization. While this was going on, two of his squad mates would take the run down the cliffs to assist us, and with their arrival the battle would be won.

The execution was more flawless than could be believed. Even with the minor complication of being ambushed by a gank squad made up of no less than five jounin, Susumu was not prevented from escaping his attackers, rescuing Akihiko and me, joining up with his team, and crushing the remaining Cloud shinobi as thoroughly as an emptied aluminum can. Two brown-haired shinobi, one male and one female, dropped in on us from above, unleashed a cataclysmic amount of ninjutsu, teamed up with their squad leader to finish off the stragglers, and then returned to the main group in one sweeping display of unfathomable ability.

That was how the battle in Death Valley came to an end. It would be the last time I fought with Akihiko at my side for a long, long time.

* * *

When I saw him pensively sitting by the fire, mechanically wiping a cloth over his kunai, the need to apologize overwhelmed me. Quietly, I creeped up beside him and sat down. His faraway gaze did not so much as flicker toward me.

"Akihiko, I… I'm sorry."

Akihiko returned to the world with a startled blink and regarded me quizzically. "Sorry for what?"

"For… for the fight earlier," I mumbled as I stared down at my toes. They were dusty, and there was dirt under my nails. "For letting—letting Hayanari get me. Because… you had to…"

A strange look began to form in his eye. "Had to what?" he asked slowly.

"You know," I said, shrinking. "You had to… kill him."

I understood my mistake the moment the words left my lips. As Akihiko's face hollowed into a perfect avatar of pure dread, it occurred to me that he had not wanted to talk about it—that he had been trying not to face the reality of the matter before he had collected and prepared himself, and that I had sabotaged any attempt to go into the matter with a clear and steady step. I slowly brought a hand up to cover my mouth, but no matter how hard I wished for it in that moment, there was no way to take it back.

For a moment, he was utterly empty. He was so blank with unprocessed emotion that it seemed as though he might not move again for days. And then, after a nearly half a minute of that void stare, walls slammed up around his gaze so abruptly that I thought my head might spin.

"Why are you apologizing?" he asked coldly as he began polishing his kunai again. "It's not a big deal for a ninja to kill someone. I just did what I had to do. Or did you think I hadn't had it in me?"

"That's not what I meant," I said smally, fully feeling that I deserved to wilt under his gaze. "I didn't mean that at all. I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up. I just wanted to apologize for making you…"

"Well, don't," he snapped. "I don't need your pity. Maybe you would if you had killed someone, but I'm a shinobi. I can handle it."

My guilty thoughts stilled. The shinobi milling about glanced over their shoulders at us.

"Is that all you wanted to say?" Akihiko demanded, as if sensing their attention. "If that's it, I'm busy right now."

A beat passed. Then, not knowing what else to do, I stood. A flash of stinging regret zipped across Akihiko's face, but he quickly looked away, and he did not raise his head again until I had departed from his company.

* * *

My wanderings brought me to the opposite canyon wall, where the confrontation had taken place. Bodies were being stacked sky-high for the pyre. Even hours after the fight had ended, the dead were still being collected and dragged together. Perhaps it was taking so long because our manpower had lessened; a good chunk of people had gone to retrieve Haneda and his group, and another chunk had died in the altercation. Those shinobi, of course, were not going to go into the pyre; they were already properly sealed into scrolls and packed away for transport back to the village.

The adults were much too busy to pay any mind to a little girl running underfoot, so no one bothered with me when I arrived at the field of dead Cloud shinobi and began walking through their prone ranks. I did not quite know what I was looking for amongst the sea of stiff, gray faces until I found it, but eventually—after scanning over countless burnt, bled-out bodies—my eyes alighted on a trio of boys in uniforms that differed from all the others'.

The boys from Iwagakure.

I remember them very well even today. Hayanari Yamaguchi, Ichiei Arisato, and Iwao Yamasa: those had been their names. We had talked to them a bit, before the fight had begun. Hayanari had been twelve and the oldest, with chestnut-colored hair, gray eyes, and a wide mouth. Ichiei and Iwao had been the same age as us, ten, and cousins as well, with similar faces and matching almond eyes. None of them had been members of clans, but that probably wasn't unexpected. Konoha has always been considered exceptional in the diversity of clans it is home to.

Like us, they had been chuunin. They had been a semi-new team, formed from the previous year's batch of genin. Like us, their sensei has been nowhere in sight. Like us, they had been surviving the unending war. They had been like us right up until the moment they met us.

I put a hand on my cheek and looked at them. Then I squatted down and stared into Hayanari's face, trying to imagine what sort of thoughts had gone through Iwao's head when this same sight had met his eyes. Someone had removed the kunai already—there was no need to waste a good weapon—but the blood that had sprayed out from the wound was still dried up all over his chin and cheek.

It was a morbidly fascinating sight. It was my first time seeing such young person's corpse so close up; I hadn't had the courage to look this closely at Yoshiya's face after he'd died. I never imagined how empty the eyes would be. And they really were empty—empty of shock, of sadness, of anger, and of everything. There was only an unfillable void. They were not eyes so much as they were an expiring collection of cells and tissues that had become unable to transmit light to a functioning brain, soon to disintegrate and cease to be at all.

Had Hayanari been feeling any of those emotions before death had slackened his face? I replayed the moment we had met gazes with him in my head. Had he been shocked and hurt by our betrayal? Or had he perhaps expected it? Perhaps he had even planned to betray us first, and had only been putting up a front from the start, biding his time with pleasant chatter until he found the moment to strike. Was everything our seniors had said true after all? Would they really have killed us and run at the first opportunity?

"If we'd given you a chance, would you have left in peace?" I asked the corpse.

In my head, a string of logic answered me: No. Even if he'd actually liked us—and there was no way to know if he truly had—he would have been under orders from his superiors. If he'd disobeyed those orders and tried to spare us, or help us, he would have put both himself and his team at risk. Why would anyone do that? Why would anyone risk oneself and one's team for the enemy? His actions were proof enough. If Akihiko hadn't stepped in, I would be the one lying the ground where he was now. Even if our side had been the aggressors, there was no way he would have left us alone once the fight had begun. Their deaths had been sealed the moment they'd fallen into the valley. Their allies had abandoned them in hostile territory; that alone would have been cause enough for their perishing. In fact, if not for us and our supplies, they would have died even sooner. Both parties had known from the beginning that our little ceasefire had been no more than a farce. This was just the same as if we had met on the battlefield in open combat. It had been inevitable. They were ninja; they had known what they had been getting into...

Hayanari's frozen, unreplying visage continued to stare meaninglessly into the darkening sky. I wondered if this sort of logic did not rest at the heart of all cruelty.

* * *

"There you are. Come here."

Susumu stopped me just as I was returning to the camp. I blinked and actually froze where I was standing, so surprised was I to have him speak to me. After all, Akihiko had been the sole object of his interest since the beginning; he had never paid much attention to me.

"Um… yes?" I asked more than said when I had stirred myself enough to move to him. Susumu looked me up and down, crossed his arms, and then nodded to himself.

"All right," he said. "Before anything else, I want to ask that you, regardless of whatever answer you give me, keep this conversation and its contents to yourself. Will you do that?"

"I… I suppose if you need me to," I replied, bewildered. Before anything else? Before what?

Susumu cracked the slightest of smiles at my perplexion. Aside from expressions of irritation, of which there had been plenty, it was perhaps the most emotive face I'd had the pleasure of seeing him make. Naturally, it smoothened into businesslike professionalism before long. As if addressing a panel, he began, "With the promise of your secrecy, I would like to inform you that I have been operating and will be continuing to operate under cover for the duration of this mission. I am a shinobi of Konoha's Special Forces, and I am currently captaining the ANBU squad assigned to supervise this mission. Please do not disclose this information to any uninformed parties." Susumu took a breath, and then looked me dead in the eye. "I would like to extend to you the opportunity for a provisional apprenticeship in the Special Forces, under the guidance of an ANBU mentor. Do you hold any interest in such an opportunity?"

* * *

A/N: I'm not dead and it's not abandoned. The going has been rough is all.

Sorry for the doublepost to those who get notifications. I found a very glaring error. That's what I get for updating at four in the morning, haha. I just really didn't want to put it off anymore.

Thanks for sticking around to those of you who are still here. I appreciate your patience.

Cheers,

Eiruiel


	9. A Single Day

**Published: 6/27/2017**

 **Edited: 1/13/2018**

* * *

"What?" I asked, dumbfounded.

A hint of amusement seeped into Susumu's eyes. "An apprenticeship," he repeated. "A one-on-one teaching relationship with an established ANBU operative. Upon its completion, you would be offered the chance to officially join ANBU as an independent member. Do you hold interest in such an opportunity?"

For several seconds all words escaped me. An apprenticeship? An apprenticeship in ANBU? Did such a thing even exist?

"The initiative has been in place for the last few years of the war. We have had some success in bolstering ANBU's numbers in this way," Susumu replied without even a hint of jest. "As you must be aware, Konoha is experiencing a severe shortage of manpower. This is true in ANBU as well. You and your teammate are of the right age and background to be ideal candidates."

"Me?" I asked warily. "Not just Akihiko?"

"He is very advanced," Susumu acknowledged. "And he is the reason I spared enough of my attention to observe you in the first place. However, I maintain that you are also an investment potentially worth undertaking. If you decide to pursue an apprenticeship there will be ample time to prepare you for a career in ANBU. We do not officially recruit those under the age of thirteen. You would have at the very least three years to bring yourself to the threshold of skill we are looking for in recruits. The likelihood of being separated from him is minimal."

I continued to regard him warily. Susumu tilted his head at me.

"You two possess excellent teamwork," he informed. "That was the most notable observation I made while monitoring you. It was also the most influential in my decision to extend this offer to you. If I can I would like to have you both join us. It would be a waste to split you up otherwise. The standard of coordination required to run a successful squad in ANBU is quite high. Judging by your current level of synchronization you two are likely to meet that standard. I am confident that my colleagues would agree in my assessment and that great effort would be made not to separate you two."

"You were watching the fight," I said slowly. Dark suspicion fluttered in my gut. "Not just the end. You were there from the beginning."

"I was," Susumu confirmed. "It was a shame I had to step in but from what I saw I believe you would have been able to defeat the other two before long. It bodes well for the both of you as future ANBU—we often have to operate outnumbered. If this was your first proper skirmish, I look forward to seeing your growth under proper guidance. You two have come quite far without a sensei."

His praise fell on deaf ears. I looked up into his dark, unwavering eyes and found not a trace of regret or apology. He had been there—he had seen Akihiko's first kill—and had felt nothing about it. It probably hadn't even occurred to him, I realized, to try and stop it.

For a moment, I stepped out of my skin and pictured it in my head. I would wear the armor and use a hidden headset and speak in the secret sign language unknown to the General Forces. Akihiko and I would run assassinations in the darkness of the night, flitting in and out of existence with soundless shunshins, and never speak a word. We would have masks. No one would ever know us. Our eyes would look just like this man's, devoid of everything but cold, detached determination.

"I couldn't," I said distantly as I watched that soundless, grayscale future roll on in my mind's eye. "No… I could never."

Susumu regarded me impartially. "There is time," he told me, again.

"It wouldn't be enough," I replied. "Not to become like you."

He must have understood my meaning because after a moment he nodded in acceptance. "I understand," he murmured and uncrossed his arms. "This life is not for everyone. Being a shinobi is also being aware of one's own nature…" A beat passed as he eyed me without speaking. Then he said, "Then it's no matter. I suspect you will be of use to Konoha wherever you are. You'll do just as well in the General Forces as you would have with us."

I lowered my eyes and mumbled a thank you. I thought he might leave then but was surprised to have a gloved hand enter my field of vision.

"Thank for your time," he said firmly. "If you ever come to a place where you think you could join us don't hesitate to initiate contact. Ask at the Academy about Special Forces training. I'll leave your name with them; they'll know who you are."

"I… all right." I took his hand and shook it. It was a firm handshake, but not overly so. "Thank you..."

Susumu nodded. And then, like a wisp of flame extinguished by an exhale yawned in the night, his muted presence flickered away into darkness.

* * *

Akihiko and I did not speak again until after we had returned to the village. He took the journey back in a different section of the caravan, leaving me to pensively reflect on the mission and all that had happened on it alone. Throughout the whole trip Susumu was nowhere to be seen at all.

I was fine with that state of affairs. He no longer had any business with me. And as for Akihiko, I wouldn't begrudge him a little time and space if it helped him settle himself. I knew by now that he never meant it when he lashed out. He was not a mean person. He was just the sort who would rather be angry than vulnerable.

It was very dark by the time we arrived at the gates. It was even darker still by the time we had registered our reentries, reported to the company commander, and attended the requisite debriefing. Akihiko and I agreed to adjust our team status from active to standby; after this amazing disaster neither of us could see taking another mission without a week's rest at the very least. Then, after we had split ways and everyone had dispersed, I took a quick look around the crowded, lantern-lit street. No one from the House was waiting for me.

That was not entirely unexpected. By my estimation it was about one in the morning; anyone who had been waiting would have surely returned home by now. The mission itinerary had flown out the window weeks ago so my family would have had no reason to expect the date or time of our return. Satisfied that I would not unintentionally pass anyone by, I turned toward home.

Konoha at night was nothing like the cities of Earth at night. It was blacker here than it was there; without the omnipresence of LED lights piercing through the darkness, the night was thicker and more expansive. Rather than the distant whistling of the wind against cars and building corners, the air was filled with the sounds of crickets and cicadas—and frogs, too, because it had rained lately. It was still and solid here. No trains shook the sidewalk; no distant stereos vibrated the air with pulsing bass lines.

I took my time as I looked around in wondering silence. Some evenings were sweaty, or chilly, or creepy, or uninteresting, but this one was a rare kind of serene. Some folk were out and about, eating late dinners or drinking with friends, but by and large it was quiet. The village was the same as it was yesterday, and as it would be tomorrow, too.

This great weight of normalcy made me feel smaller than tall mountains and high canyon walls ever could. Emotional arguments and treacherous alliances and first kills were nothing in the face of such immense mundanity. Whether or not we were being swept away by the war, dying and bloodying ourselves on each others' blades, night would come as always. Darkness would still dim our sights, insects would still sing, and people would still go about drinking, eating, and sleeping. The nighttime didn't know anything about our failures or struggles. Perhaps it never would.

* * *

I was being shaken awake by my aunt mere hours after returning. Aching-backed and sore-calved, I blearily opened my eyes and gazed upon her with exhausted incredulity. What in the world could this woman want from me at four-fifteen on a post-mission morning? Was someone sick? Had I been summoned?

"Akihiko-kun is downstairs," she whispered to me over the rhythm of my roommates' syncopated breathing. For a moment I just stared. But she did not lie: a quiet sonata was playing downstairs. Its prominent feature was a phrase that resolved on a major seventh chord.

Drawing myself upwards with Herculean strength, I threw my blanket down on my pillow and shuffled across my foster sisters' futons until I made it to the door. Auntie Reiko wiped her hands on her apron and followed me down the stairs but returned to the kitchen when I went for the door. Holding in a sigh, I reached out and slid it open.

"You're not even dressed!" Akihiko exclaimed upon seeing me in a yellow duck-printed housedress.

"Of course not," I mumbled tiredly and leaned on the doorframe. "I was in bed."

Despite the early hour he was fresh-faced and had all his kit. How that came to be when we had returned and adjusted our duty status less than four hours ago was beyond me.

"Hurry and change!" he said in horror. He took me by the shoulders and forcibly turned me around, presumably to push me back inside. "We're supposed to report at five! We'll be late!"

Report? What in the world for? The Missions Desk wasn't even open at this hour. Peons from the General Forces like us didn't report to anyone this early in the morning.

"What," I exhaled through my nose, "are you talking about?"

"Didn't Susumu tell you?" my friend hissed and dropped his voice. "The Tower at 5 AM sharp! We need to be registered before we can go inside the ANBU Base!"

It took my sleep-addled brain a half a moment longer than usual to process, but it was still only a second or two before I comprehended just what exactly was going on. The situation, I realized, was something like this: Akihiko had accepted Susumu's offer. Susumu had instructed him to report to the Hokage Tower and warned him not to be late. Akihiko, accordingly, had risen at this ungodly hour and had come to fetch me as he often did before assignments. He wanted to walk together, as was our custom.

Conclusion: Akihiko didn't know that I had refused the apprenticeship. I processed the significance of this.

"Suzu?" Akihiko asked as I found myself becoming quite still. All at once I realized that this was finally the end. If Akihiko was going away I would be the only one left. This was it for our ill-fated team.

I exhaled.

"He didn't tell me," I said.

"What?" Akihiko's reaction was one of puzzlement. "That's... really weird. He couldn't have been counting on me to tell you, could he?"

"No, I don't think so." I shook my head and turned back around to face him. "It's probably because I didn't accept the offer."

Akihiko blinked and a beat passed. Then his jaw dropped.

"You… told him no?"

"I told him no," I confirmed. "I can't go with you to the Tower."

Akihiko stared at me. I stared back, unsure of what else to say. Maybe a minute passed like that there on the doorstep at four in the morning, with him in his gear and me in my nightclothes.

"Why?" Akihiko asked.

"I didn't want to do it," I admitted. "I wouldn't be happy there."

"How do you know that?" my teammate demanded. His fingers curled into fists. "How would you know if you would be happy there or not?"

"Because I know," I said and pulled back a bit with a frown. "...I don't have to be in the Special Forces myself to know that wouldn't do well in there. I'm not enough of a fighter for it."

"You're fine at fighting!" Akihiko contradicted heatedly. "Your taijustu was the best in the class after mine. Just because Hayanari got you on the ground doesn't mean you're bad at it. We were working together, and we would have gotten them in the end, anyway—Susumu said so."

His vehement faith in my abilities was endearing despite his anger. Well, maybe he was right. Perhaps we would have defeated the boys from Iwagakure even if we hadn't had help. But what did that mean? Did it make me a good fighter if I could beat some boys in a team brawl? Was I a good fighter if I could stand head and shoulders over students whose instructors hadn't bothered to teach them a thing? I could punch, kick, and stab with competency, it was true. With work perhaps I really could become someone capable running with the ANBU elite. But did that make me a fighter?

"Being proficient in combat doesn't mean you're a good fighter," I finally said. I crossed my arms and looked away as the image of Hayanari's gray face drifted across the still-dark sky. "Some people think too much to be good fighters."

"'Think too much'? What is that supposed to mean?" Akihiko's fingers were curled into white-knuckled fists. "Are you saying that I don't think stuff through or something?"

"No, of course not," I replied irritably as I rubbed a hand across my eyes. They were heavy and stinging with dryness. "Don't put words in my mouth. I'm saying I don't have the right temperament for ANBU work. It's too violent, and I would be too emotionally involved to dissociate myself enough to function efficiently."

"So what does that make me? Cold-hearted? Violence-loving?" Akihiko laughed. It was an angry, high, nervous kind of laugh, one that I should have marked. The cause of his anxiety would have been blatant if I'd bothered to look. What person wouldn't be scared of being viewed as a bloodthirsty by his friend? "As if you would be doing anything different here in the General Forces! Do you think you're so different from me because you've never killed anyone?"

"Having killed someone has nothing to do with it," I snapped back. "Stop trying to making this all about you. I'm not saying this imply there's something wrong with you or ANBU. I'm just trying to explain to you why I felt the need to refuse the apprenticeship."

"Is that what you think? That I'm trying to make this all about me? Do you think I'm that selfish?"

"Well, you're certainly acting like it," I retorted. "You keep taking insult to everything I say."

"If I'm being selfish, you're just the same as I am," he accused. "Aren't we a team? Aren't we supposed to stick together? Or are you just going to walk away and ignore me like you did the whole trip back?"

I gave him an incredulous look. "Ignore you?" I repeated. "Is giving you space so you won't yell at me ignoring you? You were the one who was avoiding me. If you were waiting for me to come and find you, that was dumb."

A look of hurt flickered across Akihiko's face. I blinked, taken aback. He had been waiting? Truly? I hadn't even considered the possibility of it. I thought he wouldn't have wanted me to see him in his moment of weakness. If he needed someone to talk to I had assumed that he would have wanted to do it on his terms, and that he would approach me when he was ready. After all, what had happened when I had gone up to him myself? I'd spooked him and he'd sent me away.

But if he had reached his limit in the wake of that battle and had decided that he wanted help even if it meant showing himself in a vulnerable state, maybe it was possible. Maybe he really had needed me. He was more practical than he was prideful, after all…

"Akihiko…" I began softly, at once regretting my words. I took a step forward.

But the look of hurt was already being overpowered by a burst betrayed anger. "Shut up," he snarled, mortified, and shoved me back. I stumbled over a stray sandal and landed on my behind.

"Maybe this team's better off done anyway!" he shouted into the house, effectively alerting everyone inside that an argument was under way. "I can get along fine without you!"

In a flash I was on my feet and blocking the doorway as best as I was able. "Then what are you doing here?" I hissed, fighting back dread as a familiar chakra signature stirred and began making its way down the stairs. "If you're fine without me why are you so upset I'm not coming with you? That's obviously not true!"

Akihiko's hand shot out and fisted itself in my collar. I grabbed his vest in response. And then we were standing nose to nose and glowering furiously.

"You never cared about this team," Akihiko spat. "I can see that now. Yoshiya died for nothing. Or did he even have a choice?"

The was a beat. Then my palm was flying across his cheek before I even realized I had raised a hand.

"I _never_ asked Yoshiya to die for me," I said shrilly. "Take it back. Take it back _now_."

Retaliation came in the form of a form-three Hurricane Gale strike to the face. My head cracked back into the doorframe and for a moment I saw stars. Before I could fall over, though, a hand grasped my arm and pulled me upright. The low thunder of a grand carillon's bourdon bell crashed through the air, tuned to a booming G natural.

"What," Uncle Souhei's quiet voice queried, "is going on here?"

"You're the reason everything is the way it is now!" Akihiko went on yelling, heedless of the danger. "Sensei would still be here! Yoshiya would still be here! You should have died there instead!"

In a single moment those words brought me to tears. Holding one hand over my nose and clinging to Uncle's shirt with the other, my anger and exhaustion and irritation dissolved into strangled sobs.

"Shut up," I choked. "You weren't there. You don't know anything. It wasn't my fault."

Uncle Souhei's grip on my arm was neither tight nor loose; it did not change at all. The air, though, did. Akihiko's back went ramrod straight as my uncle fixed his eyes upon him. Without glasses to obscure his gaze the sharpness of his stare seemed to intensify tenfold.

"You seem to be a bit worked up right now, Akihiko-kun," the House patriarch said. Despite the mildness of his words my teammate's face began to pale. "Perhaps you ought to take a run to clear your head."

"I…" Akihiko swallowed and was rooted to the spot. He didn't look even remotely capable of operating his legs. Uncle Souhei's eyebrows lifted.

"Go now," he suggested softly. "Run."

As though breaking free of lead shackles Akihiko suddenly found himself able to move. In half a heartbeat's time he was turned away and sprinting down the road like his life depended on it. Maybe it did. I could recognize Uncle Souhei's dangerous voice through even the most violent of crying fits.

Uncle let out a sigh. "Let me see it," he said briskly as he crouched down to my height. I caught sight of Auntie standing at the end of the hall, hands twisted in her apron.

"Calm down," Uncle Souhei admonished as I continued to clutch my nose and bawl. Gently, he pried my fingers away from my face. "Ah… just as I thought. He broke it."

"It wasn't my fault," I wept at him in reply. Whether in reference to the fight or to the bunker I wasn't sure, but Uncle just ran his fingers through my hair and lifted a green-glowing hand toward my blood-covered nose.

"I know, sweetheart," he murmured. "It wasn't your fault. I know."

* * *

Upon arriving at the Academy a week later I stopped just before stepping over the threshold and wondered where I was supposed to go to make my request. The Missions Office was probably not the destination I had in mind, though I had almost headed straight there out of habit. I had no business in the classrooms and I doubted anyone of significance was stationed at the playground, but where did that leave? In truth, I hadn't spent much time anywhere else in my days at the Academy.

Eventually I just decided to go to the Faculty Office and ask one of the teachers to point me in the right direction. I had only been there once, when we'd had a meeting with my guardians about whether or not I would be advanced a grade or not, but somehow I found it remembered the route quite clearly. In fact, now that I was standing in the halls and breathing the same air again, I found that I could remember a lot of things about my Academy days. Despite the passage of time and all that had happened since then it felt strange to walk alone here. I had never walked alone in those days.

"Excuse me," I said after knocking two times and bowing with the proper etiquette. "Is Erina-sensei available?"

To be honest I was just naming a familiar name, but at one of the far desks a head of brown hair rose.

"Oh my," she exclaimed upon catching sight of me. "There's a face you don't see every day. Come in, Namikaze!"

I bowed again before shutting the door and making my way over to her. Erina-sensei leaned back in her chair and smiled curiously at me.

"It's been quite a while, hasn't it? What brings you here?" she inquired.

"I just have a quick question for you, Sensei." I smiled back a bit fondly. Out of all the classes I took at the Academy hers really had been the one I'd enjoyed best. "I came here today to apply for an apprenticeship, but I didn't know who to speak to. Might you be able to point me in the right direction?"

One of instructors sitting nearby looked up rather sharply but Erina-sensei didn't seem to notice.

"Oh?" she asked. "An apprenticeship?"

"My team has dissolved," I murmured by way of explanation. Erina-sensei's face immediately morphed into an expression of pity.

"I see. My condolences," she offered, and most sincerely. She didn't ask if they had died or not but perhaps she didn't need to. Perhaps the fact that we were dissolved was cause enough for sympathy.

"Thank you," I sighed.

"What sort of apprenticeship are you considering?" Erina-sensei continued, knowing better than to dwell. The instructor two desks away continued to eye us silently. I was brave enough to cast a sidelong glance at him, but besides inclining his head a bit in acknowledgement he did nothing more than continue to stare. I turned my attention back to Erina-sensei.

"Well," I began, twisting my fingers together, "I was hoping to apply for something in your field. The General Forces' Infiltration and Espionage Unit."

"I&E? You?" Erina-sensei was at once delighted. "That's excellent! I remember your class quite well. If we weren't at war, we would have scouted you for sure. You were a natural during the demeanor unit."

"Oh, no," I demurred politely, but she was already pulling out a blank scroll and a brush pen with a wide grin.

"Leave it to me, Namikaze," she declared cheerfully. "I'll pass your inquiry along straight to the unit head. I'm certain he'll be able to find something for you. No one your age ever bothers with I&E in wartime so he'll be ecstatic. Any of us would be happy to start teaching the trade to the next generation."

I blinked. That was rather easier than I had thought it would be. And straight to the unit head, too? I supposed all of the divisions were hurting for people these days. So much the more for the non-combat specialists, it seemed.

"Done!" Erina-sensei signed her name and then motioned at me with her pen. "I'll bring it with me to our section meeting tonight. Why don't you come back tomorrow around this same time? I'll give you his response."

I took that as my cue to bow deeply. "Thank very much for your help, Sensei," I replied formally. "I'm extremely grateful."

"My pleasure, Namikaze," Erina-sensei waved a hand with a laugh. "Well! Hopefully we'll be seeing lot more of each other soon, then, huh?"

I rose from my bow and smiled again.

* * *

A/N: Thank you as always for reading. Drop a review and check in with me if you're still around!


	10. Distant Thunder

**Published: 3/9/2018**

* * *

"We have a little bit of time left before you have to leave," Hayato-sensei observed as he glanced at his watch. "There's something I'd like to ask you about before I let you go. May I?"

"What is it?" I wondered. At this point of the session Hayato-sensei usually just let me talk about whatever I felt was significant. He didn't often try to steer the conversation himself.

"Souhei and I were speaking recently and you came up in a bit of an aside," Hayato-sensei replied a tad apologetically. "You've already talked to me about the fight—and of course I haven't shared anything you've said without your permission—but Souhei mentioned he was concerned that you might be bottling up your feelings about it. He didn't want to be pushy, so he hasn't made too much of a point to ask you about it, but he is a bit worried. So I thought I would check in with you: is there anything—anything at all—troubling you about it?"

"Hmm," I said and looked out the window thoughtfully. Uncle Souhei was fretting about me in such a way? I was a little surprised. If someone were to be worrying about me like that, I would have thought it would be Auntie Reiko, not him. Uncle was so cool-headed and distant. I had always taken him for the type who would rather let a person sort through her trauma on her own time, at her own pace, without getting involved.

"There are times when it might seem like he's cold," Hayato-sensei murmured with an indecipherable look in his eye, "but he isn't really. He's only trying to stay emotionally detached. He watches all of you, Suzu-san, and he does worry. No matter what he says, after all, he knows that you all look to him as a father."

I looked at him quizzically. That only begged the question of why Uncle felt the need to emotionally detach himself from us. But Hayato-sensei just shook his head and smiled a sad smile that said it wasn't his place to tell me.

"Well," I inclined my head, because in truth, it probably wasn't. And more than that this appointment was about me, not my uncle. "I haven't really been thinking about it so I don't have a lot to report. Nothing has really changed. He's… not here anymore. I have a new place in the Forces. It's weird being on my own, I guess, but everyone hits that point in their life sooner or later, so it's nothing to really be upset about, right?"

"That's a very healthy way of looking at it." Hayato-sensei nodded with approval. "I'm glad you can have that mindset."

There was a moment of silence and I realized after a moment that he was waiting for me to share the rest of my thoughts. I looked out the window again.

"I don't think I really want to talk about it," I finally confessed. "...It makes me kind of mad, so I'd rather just not think about it. There's no point in dwelling."

"So long as you know," Hayato-sensei replied gently, "that anger is a valid and reasonable response. You were attacked emotionally and physically in an unacceptable way. No one could reasonably fault you for it."

There was a long beat of silence in which we merely looked at one another. Then I sighed, "Of course not. In this case, at least, anger is a sign of self-worth, isn't it? I know that."

And I did know that. I wasn't upset with myself for getting angry; there would be no point to that. But there was a memory buried deep in my strange second consciousness from what the girl from Earth had had called her college days. For a time there had been a man she'd hated, and passionately so. In fact, she'd loathed him so completely that even I, removed from that life by several realities, found it a little difficult to think on him very deeply. I wasn't entirely sure what he had done; it was wearisome, in a way, to think too much about that part of her life. But he'd been ill in some way and it had made him angry and unreasonable and cruel.

The girl from Earth had suffered viscerally in those months. Not because he had hurt her—not in the end, anyway—but because she had spent her every waking moment nursing her anger. Nothing could make her happy. Everything made her mad. She spent so much time thinking about that man.

After peering into those far-off storm clouds, I realized that anger was a harrowing thing. I didn't have the gumption to invite that kind of hardship into my life. Maybe holding onto some kinds of anger, I thought, could be healthy. Maybe some people could dwell on that anger without being corrupted by it. But she hadn't been able to, and I had a feeling that if I tried, I wouldn't be able to, either.

Hayato-sensei, who had been gazing at me like he'd been looking into my very soul, suddenly seemed to relax. I blinked a bit; I hadn't even realized he'd been tense. He smiled at me.

"If you do, then all the better. I see there was no need to pry. My apologies, Suzu-san."

"Not at all… " I blinked again. There was a long beat. "Um… I guess that must be it for today, then?"

Hayato-sensei consulted his watch once more. "You guess well. You start training at the Intel Division today, don't you? I'd better let you go."

We stood and exchanged the customary post-appointment pleasantries. I scheduled my follow-up with Hayato-sensei's secretary, settled my monthly bill, and then headed off into the heart of the village.

* * *

The Intel Division stood between the hospital and the Tower and was as heavily guarded as either. It was actually quite fascinating to see how these three buildings created a triangle of absolute security. I'd only ever passed through this part of the village on messenger runs so I hadn't noticed it before, but if one stood at the very center of this space the sound of the village was nearly twice as layered as it was at the outskirts.

When I was here an additional hum was present beneath all the usual sounds of the village. It was a deep sound, barely audible, and at its edges a strange, hollowed-out melody echoed. It was rich and as complex as an orchestra but also somehow textureless and empty at the same time.

It was a bemusing sound and it took me many years to learn its source. In fact, it wasn't until after I'd had the opportunity to visit the ANBU HQ a few times that I realized that high-chakra shinobi would still echo when they suppressed their presences. In normal settings that echo was inaudible but if enough of them gathered in one place—like they did in the ANBU Base or in the village center—the effect was just like that of the one I heard: a textureless, empty orchestra. It was all the variety of sound with the substance of each signature taken out from it.

In the Intel Division itself I&E's base of operations was located in the wing farthest from T&I's. Several other units stood between us and them: Logistics, Cryptography, Domestic Affairs, Foreign Affairs, Research and Development, Equipments… The other offices were all accessible to whoever bothered to walk in, but the door to T&I was sealed and guarded openly by a tall and unabashedly menacing ANBU. That probably wasn't uncalled for, though. They were in charge of the highest of the high-risk prisoners; tighter security was more than expected.

The cultures of the units I could see were quite varied. In Logistics paperwork appeared to be attacked in a tag-team manner; a glimpse inside their office revealed that all of their scrolls were piled together on a common stand. When people went to pick out new assignments they went in groups of three or four, and there were a few large tables upon which several people could work together at once. Conversely, the population in Cryptography pointedly did not mix tasks. Their workspaces were extremely private; several of the desks had walls and there were next to no loose objects in their office. Everything was tidy, locked into large organizers, and had to be retrieved on an item-by-item basis with individual keys.

As for Domestic and Foreign Affairs, they were practically bleeding into one another. The shuffle of references between the two was constant. In fact, they were at the point that several of their bookshelves had been placed on dollies and were perpetually being wheeled about in the hallway between them. They, too, had individual workstations, but it seemed that everyone could walk up to anyone else's desk and seize its contents at will. I had no idea how their members maintained any sort of workflow with those kind of shenanigans going on, but as it turned out, D&FA—they were often referred to as a single entity despite being, in fact, separate units—was famous for its blistering, godlike efficiency. It seemed that whatever system they had going was effective.

There were several other offices in the Division but I didn't have time to look at them all before I had to report to my real destination, Infiltration and Espionage. Of all the offices I had peeked into today this one seemed the warmest. A sense of easygoing, casual camaraderie filled the air, and it was more tangible than the aura even the tightly-knit members of Logistics had been producing; there was a table in the corner devoted completely to snacks and several people were standing around and eating together. There were singular desks here, too, but they were more individualized. Several of them were decorated with personal belongings like pictures, colorful paperweights, small baubles, and even a few magnetic dry erase boards. Thankfully, people did seem to be keeping their hands off of one another's assignments. A handful were using the whiteboards to draw stick figure fights or tic-tac-toe boards without permission, though. I caught sight of one such person being smacked upside the head for erasing someone else's to-do list.

Several people were reading or writing when I arrived but many were not. Some were talking to their neighbors; I caught a pair quizzing each other with flashcards and another speaking only in sign language. Two women were leaning over a mirror in the corner, discussing methods of making false wrinkles while trio of men looked over their shoulders with interest.

I'd spent a sizable moment observing from the door before someone spotted me. She was a young black-haired girl—and she was a girl, probably only a few years older than me—with a classic long bob and traditional blunt bangs.

"Hey there, stranger," she greeted me amicably as she leaned back from her work. "What's your business in I&E today?"

A few interested faces glanced up to look at me. I briefly searched them for Erina-sensei but didn't find her. Did she have a desk here in I&E? Well, she was probably at the Academy right now anyway.

"Um," I said as I put a hand on the doorframe, "I'm looking for Imasaki-buchou… I'm the new apprentice," I added.

A faint ooh rose from the room. Word about the new recruit had spread fast, then. I guessed noncombat apprentices really were that rare.

The girl's eyes lit up.

"Hey!" she sprung up for a handshake. "Nice to meet you! I'm Anzu Imasaki, the unit head's assistant."

"Hey," I replied with a hesitant grin. I took distant note of her surname. "I'm Suzu Namikaze."

"Suzu-san, then! It's a pleasure!" she grasped my hand and shook it warmly. "Naoto's office is just over here. Come on."

Anzu led me to a door a few feet away from her desk. She opened it without knocking and ushered me inside to where a black-haired man was sitting at a desk in the center of the room. The space was sparse of decoration but there were so many scrolls and books of different size and color lining the walls that it almost didn't matter. A plant and a cup of water were situated at the corner of his desk.

Naoto Imasaki was staring out into space with his chin propped up on a hand. His gaze was idle but his other hand was running across the length of a scroll with steady deliberation. He tilted his head upon our entry and turned curious, if not somewhat unfocused, eyes in my direction.

"Hello," he greeted me. His pleasant smile was aimed about a foot over my head—at the height, I realized, where an adult's face would be located. "Welcome to I&E. I don't think we've met before… how can I help you, sir?"

I was too dumbstruck to reply. I'd imagined a lot of things about the head of Infiltration and Espionage, but never in my life would I have I suspected he would be blind.

"It's a girl, Naoto," Anzu giggled good-naturedly. "The new apprentice. Suzu Namikaze."

"Hello," I said once I'd finally found my voice. Naoto's unseeing gaze corrected itself with pinpoint accuracy.

"Oh, pardon me." He lifted his chin and dropped his arm. His other hand halted. "That's right, Misuzu-san was coming in today. It's one already, Anzu?"

"Just about," Anzu confirmed.

"My," Naoto murmured to himself. He took his scroll and began rolling it shut. "Thank you, then." He looked ready to say something to me when he paused. "Oh! While you're here, Anzu, would you mind fetching and transcribing the Unou report for me? Kana-san said that it was delivered today."

"Oh, if it's Unou, I did that already," Anzu replied. "They delivered it to my mailbox by mistake. I'll put it in with the rest of the afternoon load."

Naoto stood and aimed a fond smile at her. "Blessed girl," he said affectionately. "I&E would fall apart without you."

Anzu giggled again. "I know."

Familial exchange so ended, Anzu waved at me before returning to her desk. Naoto paced over to the corner of the room and retrieved the long, slim cane leaning against the wall there.

"Walk with me," he invited. He was already halfway to the door. "I've been inside longer than I meant to be."

Walking with Naoto immediately made it clear that his use of a cane was 90% unnecessary. Perhaps it was because he worked in the Intel Division and knew its halls by heart, or perhaps he was just very good at hearing other people approach, but any time a potential obstacle appeared he would glide past as smoothly as any sighted man. I followed along after him in fascinated silence, examining his stride and wondering at his serenity.

"Well then, Misuzu-san," Naoto suddenly said. We halted just beside a door to the courtyard. "May I ask you a few questions? I would like to know you a little better."

I found myself feeling wary. I didn't know why but something about his unshakable calmness was unnerving. It was scary when anyone was that self-assured, and doubly so that person was a ninja. His expression made one wonder if he had some sort of secret doomsday weapon in his pocket.

"What would you like to know?" I asked, shifting back onto my left foot.

His lips twitched. I was struck with the impression that he found me greatly amusing, which worried me even more. What exactly was he thinking about me? He was surely analyzing me, but what were his findings? His face seemed say that he was gleaning the innermost essence of my being just by hearing my replies. How was that even possible?

"Ah, don't be anxious," Naoto said as if sensing my explosion of worry. "Your place in I&E is assured no matter what you say to me today, really. There are too few of us for me to refuse you. I'd just like to ask you a few trivia questions is all."

"...All right," I agreed. I tried not to let my voice betray how much he'd unsettled me. The blind man smiled again.

True to his word his questions were very conversational. In a way it really was like trivia. My favorite color, my preferred book genre, my pastimes—for some reason, Naoto began to look very pleased when I told him I read girls' novels and liked to sew. By the time the questionnaire was done he was looking positively cheerful.

"That's excellent, Misuzu-san," he clapped his hands together brightly. "That's very helpful. I think I know just what to do with you."

Anxiety was quickly giving way to bemusement. I couldn't fathom how in the world could such hobbies as embroidery and teen romance would be of help to him. Naoto, though, just grinned and took off back in the direction of I&E, leaving me to scurry after his long, sprightly stride.

"Oyuki-san!" Naoto called when we'd returned. "Please come to my office for a moment. Misuzu-san, follow me."

The summoned Oyuki got up met us at the door to Naoto's office. Naoto's hand glided across the wood of the portal before alighting on the door handle.

"Oyuki-san, this is Misuzu Namikaze-san, our new apprentice," Naoto introduced me as he opened the door. "Misuzu-san, this is Oyuki Hanamura-san, one of our most senior infiltration agents."

She looked me over curiously. "Hello."

"Hello," I replied. She had the coloring of a standard Konoha shinobi—tea-brown hair and dark brown eyes. She was young, it seemed to me, but not that young. She was perhaps the same age as my foster mother.

"Oyuki-san, I was considering where in the unit I'd like to place Misuzu-san for training. What do you think? Would it be very difficult for you if I were to place her with your people?"

Oyuki looked at me again, but this time her eyes carried steely calculation. I went stiff as a board, which somehow made the sightless Naoto smile. Oyuki began an unabashed verbal assessment of me.

"Well, she's got decently good looks," she reported baldly. "You do makeup? No, that's your natural face? Then you'll do all right in that, I wager… hm. Were you thinking domestic or international focus, Naoto-san?"

"Domestic," Naoto replied. "I suspect she will have valuable insight into Fire Country's pop culture."

I let out a noise of understanding. So that was why he'd been so pleased to hear "girls' novels." Of course. This was probably the one field in which my consumption of young adult literature could be considered an asset.

"Oh, is that so? ...If that's the case the hair's going to be a problem."

Naoto blinked in confusion before he seemed to realize her meaning. Then he took on a look of dismay.

"Oh no," he said. "She's blond, isn't she? Of course she is. She's a pure-blooded Namikaze."

At this I gave Naoto a sharp look. Yes, it was true—my family line had married within the clan for at least the past five generations. This was common knowledge amongst the members of the House—we often had fun tracing our lineages in the clan registry—but I had made no mention of my blood status to him at all. How did he know about it?

The obvious answer was that he'd read about me before our meeting. But that only led to questions of where exactly he'd gotten that information It was doubtful he had access to the clan records themselves, but then again there was bound to be some documentation somewhere within the village administration that made note of my lineage. Was that just the power an Intel Division unit head had? Once again I found myself feeling unsettled. Who could say what else the village—and by extension, he—knew about me?

But that, I concluded a small moment later, was also what it meant to be a shinobi.

"What does that mean for her chances as an in-house infiltrator?" Naoto asked worriedly.

Oyuki made a thoughtful sound. I wondered vaguely if this was what models felt when their agencies were trying to find work for them. There was a strange pressure despite the fact that there was no helping at all what color hair I'd been born with.

"If you had marked her for Lightning, Earth, or Wind Country it wouldn't be a problem," Oyuki said after a moment. "But unfortunately the only blonds you can find here in central Fire Country come from the Yamanaka and Namikaze clans themselves. It's a dead giveaway that she's from a ninja clan. We could chance claiming that she's just someone's orphaned bastard, but in general we prefer our premises to be a little stronger than that. She'll have to dye her hair for most assignments."

"And what is the significance of that?" Naoto questioned.

"Well, it can mean a couple of things. In some cases it won't play into the assignment at all beyond the initial dyeing. But if she goes into a long-term mission she'll have to continually dye her roots as they grow in. Depending on the assignment this could go by without issue, but there have also been cases in the past where agents have come under suspicion and had their belongings searched. Things can get ugly if the dye is found. It's quite incriminating if there are questions about spycraft from the get-go; it usually takes a very airtight explanation to get out of that, if at all. And of course there are worries about supply if she goes into a rural locale," Oyuki added contemplatively.

"I see," Naoto sighed. "And in your experience, what is the outlook for light-haired domestics? How have people managed in the past?"

"Well, as you know, we have several Yamanakas in residence," Oyuki mused. "Yamanakas are perfect for this line of work," she added for my benefit. "Their information-gathering means are unparallelled."

Indeed, that would be the case, wouldn't it? I found myself reflecting over the image of a ponytailed Yamanaka girl making hand signs over an exam paper.

"Generally they have no trouble beyond what is standard in short-term assignments. By trend, though, they struggle in long-term lower- or middle-class personas even if they complete the mission without incident. They seem to shine best in high society. A great deal of our capital agents are, have been, and will be Yamanakas."

When thinking of the possible complications of espionage something as mundane as hair dye had never really occurred to me. But in hindsight it would be a significant matter. Anything that brought attention to or poked holes in an infiltrator's story could be exploited to disastrous effect. This was a field in which people could ill afford to be caught, especially when it implicated the village in places that it had no business being.

"Regardless of all that it's very possible for her to have a healthy career as a domestic," Oyuki concluded. "Everyone brings unique challenges to the field regardless. If it weren't this it would be something else. I wouldn't worry too much about it, buchou."

Naoto's face bloomed into a smile.

"I see," he said, looking restored to good cheer. "That's a relief. So what do you think, Misuzu-san? Would you enjoy learning about domestic infiltration? It's not a particularly glamorous focus but it's some of our most important work. Knowledge about Fire Country's inner workings is the backbone of all the village's collective intelligence."

I considered it. I thought about my life as a shinobi so far—all of the running, the walking, the foreign cliffs and unfamiliar plains and rivers. My time in carriages, sitting atop supplies, and my time keeping pace beside horses, and washing the dirt out from between my toes at night. And the violence, too, I remembered. Stabbing people. Being stabbed. Being beaten and throttled and watching other people bleed to death on the crags. In a way my life read like an adventure novel; I was just the sort of heroine protagonist who would overcome all of my childhood hardships and go on into a glorious future. Yes, that was the kind of story village kids read about in the books. The kind where the main character would become a war hero, cutting down the enemies of her people with fearsome aplomb, or maybe where she joined a secret circle of elites and became the ultimate ninja's fantasy—a loyal, shadowy protector whose excellence was entirely unmatched. Susumu's face flashed in my mind.

"What sort of matters do domestic infiltrators investigate?" I asked Oyuki.

"Well, to be honest, it varies greatly," she replied. "I'm an in-house agent myself and the bulk of my work tends to be industrial espionage. That's stuff like finding out business and tradecraft secrets for the benefit of Fire Country's own economy. If you go the route that most Yamanakas go you might end up doing the same with the merchant class—learning about production secrets, investigating suppliers, and so on. Or if you become one of the capital infiltrators you might end up in the Fire Daimyo's court, in which case you'd probably function as support for one of the long-term agents who have established powerbases. Basically you'd gather information about activities around the capital, which your supervisor would then use in conjunction with existing influence to steer politics in favor of Konoha's interests. And there's always the requests of clients to consider," she added. "Sometimes they do ask for exciting things but a lot of the time it's more of the same. As Naoto-buchou said, it's not a particularly glamorous specialization."

"It sounds so mundane," I remarked. "It's nothing at all like what I've been doing until now."

"Yes, we hear that often," Naoto smiled humorously. "We're not a very popular wartime unit, but I think you'd already gathered that."

Yes, I had, hadn't? Erina-sensei had said it too—no one bothers with this stuff in wartime. And yet here I was.

"I think," I began slowly, "that it would be wonderful."

* * *

A/N: Ay, you thought this was done? It's never done. I suspect the writing of this story will go on until I'm well into my sixties, haha.

What can I say about my absence? Oh, I don't even know how to articulate it. Sometimes life is just hard. Really hard. 2017 was a ride.

I think the story will seem a little disjointed at this point because of how long the pause has been and because of how I've changed as a person over the hiatus. There's no helping it, though; writing is a process. It'll have to be something I smooth over in the next edit, haha. (Yup, rewriting the rewrite—but as they say, all writing is rewriting.) But actually finishing this iteration comes first, doesn't it?

For all of you still riding this wagon, thank you for sticking around! I appreciate all the people who left me little messages of support in this past half-year or so. I hope people continue to enjoy the story of Suzu and her friends and family. Drop a review and let me know your thoughts and your hopes on what sort of direction this story will take after its long break.

Cheers,

Eiruiel


	11. Interior Storm

**Published: 4/4/2018**

* * *

"O sweet Spring Flower, Miss Misuzu! I have admired your beauty since I first laid eyes upon you. Please, won't you accompany me on a date?"

This hammy request was delivered not only on one knee but also with an incredibly gaudy bouquet of flowers. I darted my eyes left and right and found that a myriad of passers-by had stopped to stare. A nearby toddler began to cry.

"Miss Misuzu!" Gai Maito implored.

I found myself beginning to sweat. I knew about Gai, of course. All people knew about Gai even if they didn't have memories from a strange alternate universe. How could they not? He was Gai. He was the biggest village weirdo since… since ever, maybe.

My first inclination was to put on my best Yoshiya-face, glare with frigid superiority, and nope the hell away. But even though Oyuki was not in the immediate vicinity somehow I just knew that if I broke character now she'd hear about it. And oh, I did not want her to hear about that.

Right up until this very moment demeanor practice had been my favorite training task. It had been the simplest and most entertaining of my exercises, usually involving a delivery or other miscellaneous task, in which I would be instructed to adopt a certain personality type and try my hardest to sell it to whomsoever I happened to encounter. Usually it was great fun, especially if I ran into family or clanmates, and with my ongoing assignment of "giggling socialite" that was doubly true. Now, though, I was having second thoughts. Second thoughts about everything, really, because being asked on a date by Rock Lee's future sensei was something that would make any young woman question her life.

"Oh, Gai-san, that's so sweet of you," I tittered, nervously and admittedly without much substance. "I'm flattered."

Because my errands often took me to the Academy and since part of my current training was learning to project the image of a sociable young woman, I had become rather well-known amongst the Academy community. It was not surprising in the least that Gai, who I knew to be a frequent volunteer tutor in taijutsu, had seen seen me about enough to start admiring my looks. Nor was it a surprise that he had begun to admire my looks—and I meant that in a truly factual way. Currently I was the most well-groomed I'd ever been in my life. If there were ever a time for me to gain an admirer based solely on physical appearance it would be now.

Why was that? The answer was simply that I was under daily scrutiny. Oyuki was my main supervisor, but Fuyuji, I&E's cultural apparel advisor, critiqued my hair, clothes, and general looks almost every morning I reported to the unit. This, of course, was also at Oyuki's behest. In her words she wanted me to have a taste of what sort of daily diligences were required of an infiltrator.

Fuyuji was an interesting fellow with extremely extensive knowledge of both male and female fashions. If he hadn't been born into a ninja clan I suspected he would have lived a very happy and fulfilling life as a tailor. He had a keen eye for design and the sort of taste that made a person look sharp without being showy. I saw him sketching all the time, and it was a real shame he wouldn't devote his full time to a clothing brand; it was obvious where his passion was.

Ordinarily I might have been irked to have personal choices like how to wear my hair and uniform dictated to me, but as it was Fuyuji and I had really hit it off. Once he learned that I was an avid needlecraft enthusiast, and that I was far along enough in skill to be wearing clothes and alterations of my own making daily, he began sharing all sorts of his very fashionable designs with me. Unlike him I had access to a sewing machine (Hisame-jii, who was possibly the only ninja seamster in all of Konoha, had one) and even though it was primitive and treadle-powered it made me a more of a sewing powerhouse than he could ever dream of being.

Our relationship quickly soared beyond simple tutelage. We became something like business partners. In exchange for following his instructions in hair and dress I was given incredibly high quality fabrics so I could sew and sometimes model clothes for him. He had lots of young nieces, ones even littler than I was, so more often than not they were very cutesy outfits. But every now and then he would draw up elegant and ladylike dresses for me to try out. That in itself was very enjoyable, and in fact I liked some of his stuff so much that I sewed it up in sturdy chuunin blues and put it on under my vest, but most vitally I was allowed to keep the leftover materials for my own projects.

But all of that was distraction from the point. I couldn't keep my mind out of the present much longer. The reality was that, due to a combination of dressing well, styling my hair, and pretending to be a nice girl, Gai Maito had taken a liking to me decided to ask me out. And he was waiting for a response from me _right now_. I couldn't stand here without answering for much longer.

Mechanically, I held out my hands and accepted the garish bouquet of purple and orange flowers. A ludicrous amount of hope flared in Gai's eyes, and he clasped his hands together and looked up at me as though he was praying to some sort of ten-year-old deity. I wondered if he he even realized he was older than me. Wasn't this embarrassing for him? He was Kakashi's age, after all, and Kakashi would probably die before he behaved like this for anyone in public.

"Gai-san," I began. Then I hesitated, because when he met my eyes they were full of such earnest attention that I knew at once I would be the worst kind of person if I returned anything else but an equally earnest answer. After all, he had gone out of his way to buy me flowers and ask me out in person. That was bravery. He was making a sincere effort to know me right now. What kind of person would spit in the face of that? Not the kind of person I wanted to be, demeanor training or no.

"Gai-san," I started again, more warmly now. "I'm really touched. Thank you."

And even though Gai often projected the image of being dense and sometimes delusional, he was as perceptive as any ninja ought to be, and sometimes even more than that, too. The preteen before me was a future jounin, after all. One didn't rise to that level of excellence by being delusional. Gai looked up and returned my smile with equal friendliness and warmth.

And then I faltered. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with his smile or his response at all. In fact it was a really handsome smile, one made even more wonderful by the fact that it was soft and calm and nothing at all like his usual frightening grins. It was that his smile brought forth in my mind the image of another boy's smile—the smile that he had given me when I'd given him a vanilla cupcake to celebrate his birthday. I swallowed.

"I'm really touched, Gai-san," I whispered as I replayed that sunny scene in my mind's eye. "But I don't think… I don't think that I could go on a date with you. I… I'm sorry."

Gai stood as tears began to gather in my eyes.

"Oh no," I mumbled flusteredly and began fanning my face with my hand. "I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… I'm sorry. I—"

"I understand," Gai interrupted with surprising gentleness. "Please don't worry about a thing, Miss Misuzu. I'm to blame for asking so suddenly. I'll try again when the time is more convenient."

He smiled again when I tried to hold out the flowers and pushed my arms back to my chest. Then he left without any further attempts to ask. I returned to I&E's office in tears.

"What? What's wrong?" one of the ninjas by the door asked, startled, as I appeared in the doorway with my armful of gaudy flowers.

"He was so nice," I cried in reply. "I didn't realize that he was that nice."

* * *

I first noticed it a few months into my apprenticeship. After taking part in a spar on Academy grounds, the faint whisper of a clandestine conversation drifted into my ear.

"...such a disappointment."

I turned my head and caught sight of two Academy instructors hurriedly looking away. They moved towards the end of the hall and ducked around a corner with ill-concealed haste. I paused for a moment, considering. Then I lifted my arms and began making hand seals.

Eavesdropping skills and chakra-enhanced hearing techniques were so important for espionage that Naoto hadn't even bothered to wait for me and Oyuki to lay out a training regimen; on my second day in the unit he just stopped me by the door and showed me the techniques right then and there. They were all very basic jutsu—in the future I would learn more complex and specialized techniques—so it was no trouble at all to hear the rest of what they were saying.

"She was one of the top students, too. We had so much hope that she'd finally be able to excel once her guardians stopped interfering with her training."

My eyebrows flew up. I had figured they'd been talking about me, if only by the reactions they had to my presence, but that was a far more escalated degree of talk than I had expected to hear. I had always known that Auntie Reiko and Uncle Souhei's decision to forbid my skipping of grades had been unpopular, of course, but I hadn't realized there were people out there who were so invested in criticizing them.

This alone wouldn't have made me overly angry. Auntie and Uncle had known what they were doing and were thick-skinned enough not to be bothered by such gossip. Besides, those instructors didn't know us and they didn't know what sort of internal circumstances were going on in our family. But what followed did make me angry. It made the paper handout I had in my hands crumple so hard it almost returned to pulp.

"—and now look at her... things seemed so promising when she and her teammate were promoted, but now? Did you see her sparring with the third-years? Her skill level..."

"Don't tell anyone I said this, but my desk is next to the Special Forces recruiter's, and I heard the other boy, the one who got left behind for Mikawaya's mission, got taken up into ANBU."

If they had been lamenting the dissolution of Team 11 and wishing that I could have had more consistent mentorship it would have been one thing. I wouldn't have been entirely pleased—after all, whose fault did they think Team 11's dissolution was? as time went on it baffled me more and more how the instructors acted like victims—but in the end they still would have been wishing, however hypocritically, for my good.

"So what, they passed her up?"

"I heard she turned them down so she could join I&E instead."

There was a tsking noise, soft but clear in my ears.

"She's more of a coward than I anticipated."

Talk about my team and grade-skipping was one thing. As Academy instructors they had been involved, however peripherally, with my student affairs. But I wasn't a student anymore and my life after the Academy was none of their business. They had no right to be making comments about my career choices.

Hot indignation bubbled up beneath my collar. What the hell did these outsiders think they knew? Susumu had accepted my decision without question, and not even Akihiko, for all his misdirected rage, had called me a coward when he'd left.

For a moment, I stood shaking in the hallway. I wanted to but I couldn't go up to them and scream in their faces. Even when I was angry I knew how idiotic that would be. Eventually I took a measured breath and opened a nearby window.

It was never unusual to see shinobi egressing through such ports as second floor windows, but when I looked over my shoulder at the instructors after landing in the courtyard they started and avoided eye contact. Disgusted, I marched over to a nearby training post.

From the corner of my eye I saw their figures shift to track me. I pushed my foot back and fell into a Hurricane Gale stance. Then I lifted my arms, picked up my leg, and plowed it through the post with enough force to rival one of Akihiko's best kicks. The top half of the training post flew across the field and slammed into a nearby tree. It shuddered and dropped an armload of pine cones.

They were too shocked to dodge my gaze then. I stared them both in the eye. It was a challenge against my seniors but I didn't care.

The two instructors ducked their heads and walked hurriedly away.

* * *

Once my ire had drained away it left me sprawled on the kitchen table. That evening after dinner, after everyone had dispersed to their own business, I sat face-down in the kitchen as Auntie Reiko absently washed dishes. Normally I'd have helped her, but she was so far through with them now that there wasn't really a point.

"So?" she finally asked after she'd finished a few minutes later. She beat her hands against her apron to dry them. "What went on with you today, Suzu?"

"I did something really stupid," I glumly replied.

Auntie sat down across from me. I confessed the details of the confrontation at the Academy, hiding neither the fact that I had eavesdropped nor that I had destroyed Academy property in a fit of rage, though the details made my cheeks burn bright red with embarrassment. Getting upset because I'd eavesdropped and picking a fight over it… it was the height of immaturity. I let out a long sigh.

But Auntie, rather than scolding me, looked pensive. There was a crease in her brow and her blue eyes were distant with memory. She placed her chin on her fist.

"During the Second War," she began, which made me sit bolt upright, "before my last mission, there was a squad I was a temporary member of."

Neither Auntie nor Uncle ever spoke of the Second Shinobi World War. We all knew why, of course; we were the children of their fallen friends and comrades. Possibly when I was younger I wondered why they wouldn't talk about it to at least us, but lately I never felt the need to question it. After all, there were all sorts of matters I didn't want to talk about to anyone. I think I knew intuitively that no one was necessarily trying to keep secrets. What was the point? Everyone else was living through the same circumstances, after all, and we all had our own traumas. But it drained energy just to think of these things. There was simply no will to hash it all out again, and why would there be?

"It was a really hodgepodge team, but we all still came from regular combat units—all of us except for one guy, that is. He was from the Intel Division and he'd never been an open field battle in his life. All of his fieldwork had been scouting and surveying.

"They pulled him because no one else had been available. There were seven of us in total and about half of the team really enjoyed taking the piss out of him. We could all tell that he trained and he was good in a fight, but he wasn't on the same level as us. He wasn't combat specialized like we were, of course, so he couldn't have been. But the guys looked down on him anyway. He was an outsider on the team for a long time.

"But one day we were on a mission really far into Suna territory and it was a huge disaster. Two of our guys were killed outright and the rest of us were injured. It was bad; we had to leave their bodies behind, and while we were running it started to look like we'd have to ditch the two who had been injured the worst, too. That wasn't unusual back then. The ninjutsu specialist and I were ready to do it because we'd done it before, but the guy from Intel refused. He said there was still a way."

"What happened?" I asked, engrossed, because I'd never heard any of her war stories before. It had never occurred to me that she might have had to leave comrades behind. Auntie rolled her shoulders and gave me a shrugging smile. It was not a regretful look, not per se, but it was a somber face that said that she'd grappled with it for a long time in the past. I wondered what that must have been like. Survivor's guilt was bad enough on its own; what would having to physically abandon a squadmate engender?

"We argued but in the end we gave him his chance. So he told us to take cover and hide out while he went and infiltrated."

I snapped back to attention.

"He was I&E?" I exclaimed. "He went solo?"

"He was," Auntie nodded. "And he did. Honestly, when he left we thought that was the last of him, and we made an agreement that we'd wait twelve hours before leaving. But he came back before the time limit was up and his pack was full of Suna uniforms. He'd managed to steal four whole sets of gear from the supply depot we'd been skirting around."

"What?" I gaped. "How?"

Auntie smiled. "Well," she said thoughtfully, "he didn't give us the full story, but from what I gathered he removed all of the gear that identified him as a Konoha-nin, ran in, and acted like he belonged. He had a lot of knowledge about Suna's military culture and procedures because he was from Intel and he had been a scout. My guess is he was able to use that to trick his way through to the supplies and back again."

It must have taken nerves of steel. I couldn't even imagine it. The closest I got was picturing myself trying to blend in with the Iwa ninjas at Tatsumi River, and just thinking about that was enough to make me feel a little nauseous.

"So we dressed up as Suna-nin and we were able to slip through. Whenever we ran into patrols he pretended he was a field medic escorting a platoon through for emergency medical attention. He gave fake names and ID numbers for them to write down at their checkpoints and we ran before they could match the information with their control post. We never got the two bodies back, but everyone else lived."

Auntie Reiko smiled again at my astounded look. Then the turn of her lips faded and she shifted her gaze towards the kitchen window. Dusk was falling outside.

"His name was Manaki," she said after a long while. "I hadn't thought about him in years. I can't even remember his surname anymore… but those instructors you told me about reminded me of him and his bullies. He never said anything to them about it afterwards but they all knew that they would have died if he hadn't been from Intel."

And suddenly I began to feel ashamed. In the face of such a heroic story my boorish display of violence was twice as detestable. I put my face in my hands and wondered if I ought to just give up taijutsu altogether.

"Don't," Auntie Reiko advised. As expected of my foster mother; she knew exactly what I was thinking. "Manaki only survived long enough to save us because he'd been diligent in his combat training. I mean it when I say he was wasn't bad in a fight—he just wasn't as good as we were. Besides," she added, "imagine the talk at the Academy if you started backing off your martial training now."

I dropped my hands in horror. Auntie Reiko began to laugh.

* * *

Surprisingly it was Uncle Souhei who produced a solution to my gossip problems. Ordinarily it wouldn't have been unusual to turn for him for advice, and indeed, no one was ever taken off-guard by his thoughtful solutions. What was surprising was that he was suddenly participating in House life again. He'd hardly been home in the past two weeks and it had been just as long since I'd last spoken to him properly. Just what he was doing or where he was going was a mystery to me, but Auntie Reiko seemed entirely unconcerned, so I eventually decided to leave it be, too.

"Rather than picking fights," Uncle advised dryly, "you ought to just show them you're still growing your skills. Learn a new ninjutsu or two and practice them in a public place. It'll head off the rumor mill significantly."

"How do you know?" I asked doubtfully. I expected a glib reply, but he delivered an unexpectedly serious response.

"When I left active duty," Uncle said, "the talk that followed me was not unlike the talk that is following you right now. It was always the case that, during times of war, people who leave very visible roles find themselves accused cowardice or laziness. But so long as you demonstrate to them that's not the case, the rumors will eventually cease to stick. After I began working as a clan iryou-nin and people saw that my skills weren't going to waste, things calmed down significantly. There were some who thought I was just using my clan to hide away from the warfront, of course," he added thoughtfully, "but I suspect those particular people would have found a way to criticize me no matter what I did."

This sudden disbursement of wisdom reduced me to a thoughtful silence. Uncle Souhei seemed to sense that I still had more to say, so he fell quiet and waited patiently for me to gather my thoughts.

"Am I really such a wretch," I asked after a long moment, "if I'm not out in the field slaughtering enemies and bathing in their blood? Why am I a coward for joining I&E?"

"Why indeed?" Uncle Souhei ruminated. "It's an eternal question, Suzu. I don't know."

I gazed at him critically. Uncle put his chin on his fist and stared back.

"You have a theory, though, don't you?" I deduced.

"Maybe I do," Uncle Souhei sighed at that. "Maybe… sometimes I believe it. That we're addicted to this violence. This is the Third War, after all—we all know what happens. So why else would we keep doing this to ourselves if we weren't addicted? Every time it happens we destroy own people as much as we destroy our enemies."

I turned my eyes downward and thought about Itsuki-sensei, huddled in the dark like a child. Silent and then sobbing and then empty.

"People say things like justice, or honor, or revenge," Uncle Souhei murmured, "but it's all just pretense. I think the truth is that we don't know how else to live. But we're too scared to change, so when people do try to live differently—when they try to get by without the violence—we become unsettled and project our fearful selves onto them instead."

"And that's why you and I are cowards," I finished heavily.

"That's why we're cowards," Uncle Souhei agreed. And he went silent. I watched as he put his chin on his fist with a faraway look on his face.

"Suzu, do you believe people can change?" he asked.

"Eh?" I blinked. "I—yes?"

Uncle Souhei snorted a bit.

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

I scowled at him.

"You don't have to be mean about it. It's your fault for asking such a non-sequitur question."

Uncle let out a chuckle as he turned to look at me directly once more.

"You're right. I'm sorry. Do you believe it?"

I gave him a look but decided not to press the point. Elders were entitled to their condescension every now and again; I could take the high road.

"Yeah," I answered honestly. "They can change. I believe it."

Uncle Souhei blinked as if startled. I gave him an exasperated look. What was wrong with him all of a sudden? He asked a question; he ought to expect an answer.

"You… do?" he asked a bit dumbly. "Just like that? Even if… they are cowards or traitors?"

"Why wouldn't they?" I frowned at him. "Obviously they won't always change for the better, but it would be stranger to stay exactly the same. Life is too eventful even if someone is a traitor. And what's this about a traitor all of a sudden anyway?"

Uncle Souhei quickly looked away.

"Never mind it," he said. "All this talk about the past made me think of a man I knew."

"He was a traitor?" I perked up. Auntie's talk about the Second War had made me curious for more stories. "Was he from the Second War?"

Uncle let out a long, pained sigh. I remembered myself and immediately drew back. Of course talking about a traitor wouldn't be pleasant; this wasn't my place to pry. Before I could take my question back, though, Uncle answered.

"Yes, it was during the Second War. He had information about the enemy that could have saved lives but he refused to report it."

"Oh," I said. "That's what you meant by traitor."

"Am I wrong?" Uncle gave me a sharp look. "Do you know what kind of devastation he could have prevented? That attack killed hundreds, Yasunari and Kazue included. Your parents might still be alive today if he hadn't been such a coward."

This was startling information, but when I stared up into Uncle's face and saw the cold glint in his blue eyes, I found myself arrested.

He really hated that man, I thought with wide eyes. The intensity of his gaze was perturbing. I'd never seen such terrible loathing on his face in my life.

"I… I guess he didn't get caught?" I asked smally. "He probably would have been executed otherwise…"

And just as suddenly as the emotion came it was gone. Tiredly, Uncle turned his head away once more.

"No. No one had any reason to believe he'd done wrong and there was no evidence to implicate him. He's alive today in the village, hiding out with his family and pretending he never did anything wrong. And he hasn't changed at all," Uncle uttered. "He's just as much of a traitor and a coward today as he was back then."

I bit my lip. Any questions I had died in my throat before I could voice them. Whoever that man was and whatever he had been to my uncle, I doubted very much he would tell me if I asked.

Several long moments passed in which Uncle refused to look at me. Then he finally stood, picked up his cup of cold tea, and left the sitting room table in silence.

* * *

A/N: It's long overdue but I think I've come up with a new title for the rewrite. The theme of this story has shifted a lot since the early drafts, so _Glory_ has always felt a little bit like an artifact title to me.

This chapter was very talk-based, wasn't it? But it set up a lot of juicy stuff for the coming chapters. I'm also really happy I got to write about Reiko. Souhei always gets lots of screen time so it was nice to give his spouse a bit of the limelight for a change. But of course right after she appeared he got a 1,151-word scene… haha. The man's got a lot of baggage.

Thanks to all of you who left me long and thoughtful reviews! It pleases me so much to read your thoughts and your suggestions always give me lots to think about. This story wouldn't be half of what it is today if I didn't get feedback from you guys.

Cheers,

Eiruiel


	12. Reflections in the Dark

**Published: 7/27/2018**

* * *

"Niichan!"

My call was answered by silence, so after a moment of waiting at the front door I ran around the side of the house and unlatched the gate. From there I circled into the backyard and clambered up onto the veranda. I felt a presence just inside, so I let my armload of scrolls and brushes clatter onto the floor.

"Niichan!" I exclaimed.

Except it wasn't Minato sitting there by the storm shutters. It was an enormous bear of a man with red markings on his face and a ponytail of shockingly bright white hair. He looked very at ease sitting barefoot there on the tatami. Or he would have, anyway, had he not been staring at me with his eyebrows in his hairline.

I looked at him, dumbfounded. I was so surprised that I froze halfway on my hands and knees, sandals still hanging off the tips of my toes. One of the scrolls rolled lazily across the floor until it bounced against his knee and came to a gentle halt.

"Um," I said.

"Yeah?" he asked, still staring.

"Is… is Minato-nii… um, home?"

"No," Jiraiya of the Sannin replied. "He stepped out to grab some booze. I ran out."

"Then… Kushina-nee—"

"She's visiting one of her old genin teammates at the hospital."

Slowly, I pulled the rest of my body onto the veranda. Then I sat upright.

"He'll be back in a few," Jiraiya offered.

"Oh… okay," I said.

We lapsed into an awkward silence. Jiraiya sat back against his hands and regarded me with a curious look.

"Oh!" I started. Though I knew who he was and that was obvious, Jiraiya didn't know me or how I had entered Minato's extensively warded backyard. I shifted myself into seiza and set my shoulders with formality.

"Hello, Jiraiya-sama. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Suzu Namikaze. I used to live with Minato at the House and I'm keyed into the seals here so that's how I got in."

"Oh, so you're one of Souhei's brats, hey?" Jiraiya's face did a strange thing, twitching as if he wanted to grin and to grimace at the same time. I tilted my head at him.

"Might be that he won't want you talking to me on your own," Jiraiya cautioned. He brought up his hands as if he could ward me—and the responsibility of meeting me—away. "Your uncle and I don't get along."

This time I was the one with my eyebrows in my hairline. What an unexpected piece of information. What reason did Souhei Namikaze have to be at odds with a famous Sannin? Especially one who was the jounin sensei of his foster son Minato. Lately Uncle seemed to be becoming more and more of a mystery.

I gave Jiraiya a hard look; Jiraiya shifted uncomfortably. At any other time I would have found that remarkable—me, making the Toad Sage fidget!—but I found I was suddenly too determined to pay it mind.

"Jiraiya-sama!" I exclaimed.

"What? What do you want?" he asked uneasily.

"Please tell me about my uncle!"

"Why the hell would I do that?" Jiraiya made an incredulous gesture. "Can you imagine how much more the bastard would want to kill me if he found out that I of all people was airing dirty laundry out to his kids? He hates me enough already. Ask him yourself!"

I opened my mouth to insist, but at that moment Jiraiya put his arm down on his knee and looked me in the eye. A moment passed in silence. Then I found myself deflating.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, lowering my head into a bow. "Forgive my rudeness."

Jiraiya let out a huff of a sigh. But then his gaze softened.

"He's at it again, I take it? Bad enough that his kid would ask a total stranger about him without knowing a thing."

I looked away, unwilling to say it. Jiraiya rolled his eyes.

"How did I guess?" he asked the ceiling exasperatedly. "He never changes."

"Has he always been like this?" I asked quietly, clenching my hands in my lap.

"Always? I couldn't say. But for as long as I've known him, yeah."

A certain distaste simmered in Jiraiya's words as he spoke them. I hadn't been outright doubting him earlier, but in that moment it occurred to me that there really was a history between him and Uncle Souhei. No one spoke with that kind of disdain without a concrete dislike. I lowered my head again, though in a moment I found that I couldn't help but peer up at him through my lashes. Jiraiya took another look at me and sighed.

"Suzu, was it? Your uncle and I—well, I guess you could say that we just have incompatible life philosophies. But that's life and some people just don't get along. So let's just leave it at that, okay?"

The dismissal in his words were clear. I nodded my head once and looked back down at my hands. The storm of unease about Uncle Souhei, though, lingered. It had been over a week now since we'd had our talk about the traitor he loathed and I had thought it had settled down, but his unexpected mention seemed to make everything come flying back up into the surface. I began to chew my lip, troubled.

"Hey," Jiraiya interrupted with surprising firmness. "Enough of that depressing talk, kiddo. You look like you need a distraction. Tell me, what'd you come here for? You need Minato for something?"

"Oh," I said. I looked over the scrolls and brushes scattered across the floor in front of me. "I wanted his help with a technique. He made the seals for me and they performed flawlessly, but in a real-life combat situation there were pretty significant problems. I was going to ask him if there was something in the fuuinjutsu we should change."

"Well how about that," Jiraiya commented as a grin began to spread across his face. "Wanna know something, kid?"

I gave him an inquisitive look. Jiraiya leaned forward and gave me a toothy smile.

"I'm a fuuinjutsu master," he whispered as if confiding a dire secret to me. "I'm no Minato, but I just so happen to know a thing or two about sealing myself. How about I take a look at these seals of yours while we wait for him, eh?"

I clapped my hands together with a gasp. How could I have forgotten? Jiraiya of the Sannin had become Konoha's foremost authority on sealing after the death of the Yondaime. He would be more than capable of providing feedback on the wire jutsu. In fact, he might be able to give a much-needed outsider's perspective on the mechanism of the technique. I sprang forward onto my knees.

"Would you do that for me, Jiraiya-sama?" I asked eagerly, already reaching for the scroll that contained the seals. All stray thoughts of Uncle Souhei flew from mind. Jiraiya let out a hearty laugh.

"Kid, I already offered. Besides, it's not like I've got anything to do while we wait for him to get back. Heavens knows what's taking the Yellow Flash so long on simple beer run, though…"

And Minato continued to take a long time. By the time he made it back home, sighing with his lukewarm case of beer in hand, Jiraiya and I were already well-engrossed in a discussion about the wire technique.

"Here, do it again," he said, holding out his arm. I put my hand on his wrist and pasted a seal. He began to mime a punch; I activated the seal and yanked on it as hard as I could.

Just as Hayanari's had when we'd fought in Death Valley, Jiraya's arm jerked downward, interrupted. But then his other hand lashed out lightning-quick and snagged the wires. In a second he had them pinned to the floor with a kunai, just like Iwao had. His tug was so strong I was pulled onto my elbows.

"Yeah, that is a problem," he muttered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully after he'd released me. "No wonder you almost got killed. The physical connection is this technique's number one strong point, I agree, but it's exploitable to a fatal degree once your opponent figures out the trick is a contact-based seal."

"What?" Minato immediately looked at me in concern. "Who almost killed you, Suzu?"

"Oh, niichan!" I started, having been too absorbed to notice his coming. Jiraiya began jeering at his student.

"You took forever, you good-for-nothing brat," he complained. "I've been stuck talking to this little girl for an entire hour."

Minato flashed an apologetic smile at his former teacher.

"Sorry, Jiraiya-sensei. Something came up; I'll tell you about it in a second. But Suzu, what's this about nearly dying? Did something in the sealwork go wrong?"

"It was way back when I went to Earth Country," I dismissed as cavalierly as I could, making an effort not to think on the relevant moment too deeply. "I've been meaning to figure out a fix for a while now so I came over. When you weren't here Jiraiya-sama offered to help me."

Minato set the case of beer on the veranda and squatted behind me.

"So the problem is a countermeasure for being pinned?" he murmured as he looked at the open scroll speculatively. "Is there something that can be done to the sealwork to circumvent such a thing…?"

We three spent a moment in thoughtful silence. But then Jiraiya suddenly hit his fist into his palm and pointed.

"Maybe the problem's not the seals," he said. "Maybe the technique is just incomplete."

Minato and I looked at him quizzically. Jiraiya fixed me with an eager look.

"Kid, do you know how to use chakra flow?"

"Eh? Oh, um—yeah, actually. Uncle taught me a little while ago."

"And is your affinity wind? Or is it water?"

"Wind. But why—? Oh!"

Jiraiya quickly stuck out his kunai. I reached over, applied my seal to it, and activated it. Once again he reached out for the wires, but when he touched them I pulsed wind chakra through the threads. His fingers came back red.

"Oh no!" I gasped, jerking back. The movement made the kunai in Jiraya's hand slice in half, right where the wires had wrapped around it, and the blade sprang up into the air. Minato's eyes widened.

With unbelievable reflexes he jumped. Rotating his body in a high kick, he deflected the metal into the wall with the side of his sandal before it could fly into my forehead. The whole affair was over in a second.

There was a weighty pause as the three of us stared at the embedded fragment, breathing heavily. Jiraiya dropped the bladeless handle of his kunai. Minato slowly reached out and put his hands on my shoulders.

"I didn't think that would happen," Jiraiya said after a long moment. He looked at me and Minato both, fingers still dripping with blood. "That… was my fault."

"No, no…" I replied quickly. I shook the wires off my fingers. "I shouldn't have jumped like that."

"I didn't know your chakra flow was strong enough to cut metal, Suzu," Minato said faintly. "Your control must have grown again."

Had it? It must have. Was that unusual? I paused. No, maybe not. I had been learning a lot of sensory enhancement jutsu for my I&E training and those techniques required very minute manipulations to be used in an effective and unobtrusive manner.

"Well then." Jiraiya rose to his feet. "Minato, I'll borrow your bathroom for a sec. Is your first aid kit still behind the mirror?"

Minato nodded. "Yes."

I hastily jumped up and threw myself into a deep bow. "I am so sorry, Jiraiya-sama! Because of me, you—"

"Oh, stop it, kid." Jiraiya waved his uninjured hand at me. "I knew it would be sharp when I suggested it. I just underestimated how sharp. Serves me right—shinobi who underestimate their opponents get hurt. You're a better kunoichi than I gave you credit for." He grinned in a friendly way, as if trying to assure me there were no hard feelings.

"You're a talented ninja, Suzu," Minato told me as Jiraiya disappeared into the interior of the house. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me against his midsection in a backwards hug. "I had no idea you could do that."

"I didn't either," I bewilderedly, putting a hand on his arms.

"I'd better add in a quick-release mechanism to your seals. If you ever train that technique with an opponent, we might be facing some serious dismemberment."

"And I'll have to learn how to adjust the cutting power," I added. "That was… really close."

We both fell silent. Minato and I stood together, quietly calming ourselves, until Jiraiya returned.

* * *

That was the last time in a long time Minato and I stood together without anything between us. If I had known about the mission assignment that had delayed his beer run, that wouldn't have been the case, but Minato only told Jiraiya that his team was being deployed to Kannabi Pass after I left.

* * *

I had been apprenticed at I&E for about nine months, just long enough to celebrate my eleventh birthday with them, when Minato came home from a mission. Team 7 had been dispatched about two weeks ago, so as far as assignments went, it hadn't been a long absence. There had been no indication whatsoever that anything had gone wrong.

Minato usually went straight home to see Kushina after missions, but today the House was his first destination. Still covered in the dirt and grime of travel, heavy pack still hanging from his back, he stepped inside quietly and left his sandals askew in the genkan. Having heard him with chakra sense from the sitting room, I put down the scrolls I was studying—Oyuki had just started me on a unit about codes, signals, and ciphering—and peered into the hallway.

Auntie was also there. As she stepped out of the kitchen, beating her hands against her apron, she took a calculating glance at my cousin. Then she said softly, "Just put your things down here in the hall. Souhei shouldn't have drained the bath yet."

"Suu-nee?" Haruka called as she toddled out of the sitting room after me. She caught sight of Minato in the doorway and squealed. "Mina-nii!"

Feeling suddenly fearful, I bent down and scooped her up before she could charge at him. I looked at Auntie for guidance and she nodded at me; Minato set down his pack and silently climbed the stairs.

"It's about bedtime, Suzu," Auntie told me. "Why don't you bring the kids up?"

My palms felt clammy but I nodded and turned back to my baby cousins scattered across the sitting room. Haruka was with me, but Kouji was still slamming blocks together and Masami and Kaneko were crawling all over the dozing Nodoka.

"Bedtime, guys," I called softly. Masami and Kaneko came easily enough—I suspected they were bored—but Kouji was completely absorbed. "Kouji, bedtime!"

It was no small task to put four young children to bed. By the time Kouji could be pried from his blocks the others were antsy. Kaneko decided that, in absence of Nodoka, climbing on me would be the next best thing. Suddenly all four of them decided to latch onto me like little sloths—or leeches—and suddenly I found myself trying to waddle up the stairs with a child on each limb.

"Kane-chan, please!" I shook my leg while simultaneously trying to pry Masami's fingers from my forearm. Kaneko just giggled and readjusted her grip; Kouji and Haruka seemed to find this hilarious and began laughing with the kind of joy that could only be derived from an elder sister's suffering. I groaned. "Cut it out, you four. Auntie's going to get mad."

It was a process, but after some cajoling and two more invocations of the wrath of Reiko, the four eventually made it through the nighttime ritual of changing, brushing, and washing before finally getting into bed. By the time we were finished Minato had long since finished his bath and stolen back to the kitchen.

They were sitting at the table silently holding tea when I returned. I caught sight of Minato's face from the hall and halted.

"You lost one of them, didn't you?" Auntie asked after another minute or so of silence had passed.

Mechanically, Minato nodded. There was a long silence as he stared down into the depths of his tea. Then he whispered, "Obito. We lost Obito."

My heart leapt into my throat, and I held my breath.

"I see." Auntie put her chin on her fist and sighed. "What happened?"

"We split the team. I went to reinforce the group pinned down south of Kannabi Pass while Kakashi led the rest of the team to sabotage the Kannabi Bridge. But they encountered the enemy while we were separated, and…" Minato swallowed. "...and there was a cave-in. They were Iwa ninja. I made it back in time to save Kakashi and Rin, but… but Obito…"

Auntie made a quiet, knowing noise. "But Obito-kun was gone. And you couldn't find his body?"

Minato let out a little gasp. It was not crying, not exactly, but his breath hitched and his voice came out with a violent waver.

"I know it's—it's nothing new. It… it happens all the time. And obviously… obviously in the Second War, obasan, your comrades…"

"I never a lost a student," Auntie replied. "And I never lost the body of anyone close to me. Squad mates, but squads were always changing. Never the body of any of my true friends."

Minato put his tea down on the table.

"It's my fault. If I had only come sooner…"

I brought my hands to my cheeks. A hiccup caught in my throat.

"Did you delay overlong when you resolved the conflict south of the Pass?" Auntie asked.

"I—" Minato swallowed. "No, I… I left as soon as the captain had the situation under control."

"Did you construct plans to reunite with the sabotage team immediately after the battle in the south was resolved?"

"No, we didn't know how long the skirmish would last, so Kakashi said they'd handle it on their own. But it was too soon for them. I'm their sensei, I shouldn't have—"

"Did you drag out the fight with the enemy ninja at all?"

Minato swallowed again. "I could have killed them faster. I played it too safe. I didn't have to use so many physical anchors. I—I wasted too much time on setup."

Auntie let out a sigh and picked up her tea again. She was quiet for a while. Then she said, "Minato, you're being unrealistic. You're grieving and trying to assign blame. But this sounds like a situation where no blame can be laid. You're not at fault. Don't you agree, Suzu?"

Minato turned and saw me in the doorway. Automatically he reached out a hand at made to pull me under his arm. But I found that a weight like an anvil was dropping through my chest. I flinched away from his fingers as though they were aflame. I knew without a doubt that I would be on fire the the moment he touched me. The guilt had already soaked me through like gasoline.

Minato instantly withdrew his hand. Auntie Reiko furrowed her brow at me as my brother swallowed and tangled his fingers in the hem of his shirt. A sudden strange terror seemed to take over his face. Quickly he twitched his lips as though trying to twist them into his usual warm smile, but the effect was impossible to achieve with such a terrible fear lurking in his eyes.

"I'm sorry!" I squeaked, squeezing my own eyes shut so I wouldn't have to look at him. "I eavesdropped! I shouldn't have! It wasn't my business!"

"Suzu?" Auntie asked slowly. "What's wrong?"

"I did a bad thing!" I clutched the hemline of my blouse, hands shaking. "I'm sorry! I—I'll go to my room!"

I turned on my heel and fled, racing down the hall and up the stairs. They tried to meet my gaze, but I looked away. If they saw my eyes, they would know for certain that Auntie was wrong. There was someone to blame, and it was me.

* * *

Who people are in the dark is a reflection of their true character. As I stared up at the blackened ceiling, that was the thought that was running through my head.

 _He had information about the enemy that could have saved lives but he refused to report it._ Uncle Souhei's face, pale with disgust, appeared in my mind.

 _He was a coward. He was a traitor_. _They might still be alive today._

Suppressing the sudden need to let out a disturbed half-laugh, I rolled over in my futon and stared at my darkened image in a nearby mirror. What had Uncle Souhei's traitor looked like, I wondered. Like me? My reflection was all my usual self. Blue eyes. Blond hair. Round face. Pointed chin.

A part of me still thought it was a story. I was living with my real family and friends every day but it seemed it never occurred to me that Obito was a real person, too. And it never occurred to me that Minato would suffer and blame himself if Obito was gone. Obito had always been Kakashi's background story—that's what my stupid fake memories told me—but obviously that wasn't the case. Obito wasn't just a background story. He was a person.

I buried my face in my hands. It wasn't a story, but I hadn't wanted to believe, and now Obito was gone. No, it wasn't even that—I had just been scared to say something and risk people thinking I was crazy. I thought that maybe if I didn't think about the impending problems of my foreknowledge, it would all just go away. And now, all because of that meaningless fear, Madara Uchiha had Obito. And Obito was going to lay waste to everything Minato held dear. How could I ever look my brother in the eye again? The Academy instructors were right after all. I was a coward.

"Suzu-chan, you look awful," Fuyuji said when I arrived in I&E a few days later.

I glanced down at my clothes and then put a hand on my hair. I had worn this outfit before so something had probably gone wrong while I was braiding this morning. I hadn't had Auntie Reiko's help today, so that probably wasn't a surprise…

"No, no, not your hair," Fuyuji waved a hand. "Your hair's fine. I mean your face. You look like you haven't slept in a year. What's wrong?"

I touched a finger to my lower eyelid and frowned at him. What a thing to say to a girl first thing in the morning. Fuyuji gave me an abashed look.

"Suzu-chan, there you are! You're late." Oyuki appeared behind me.

I immediately cringed. "My sincerest apologies. Please pardon me."

Oyuki gave me a look but seemed to show leniency for my extreme keigo. She flicked a finger at me. "Come with me. Naoto-buchou wants to see you. Don't worry," she added. "I don't think it's trouble or anything. You're about due for an Imasaki info session. It's probably going to be something like when he taught you the eavesdropping techniques."

When we entered his office Naoto was intently working away on what was this universe's equivalent of a braille typewriter. Apparently, his was one of three machines in existence in the whole village; it had been developed by one of the apprentices in R&D. With that said, though, it didn't often see a lot of action. Since braille notes were useless to most everyone outside of I&E, he usually dictated to Anzu instead. Failing that, he would often just take a chance and write freehand. Even seven years blind his muscle memory could write most characters.

"Thank you, Oyuki-san." Naoto nodded in her direction.

"Anytime, buchou."

Naoto left me standing for a few moments before he sat back from the typewriter and pulled the paper out. He took a cursory scan of it with his fingertips before nodding to himself and setting it aside.

"Sorry about that," Naoto addressed me. "Oyuki-san said you were delayed so I thought I'd have enough time to finish up before you came."

I found myself cringing into keigo again. "My sincerest apologies."

Naoto tilted his head at me curiously. "Are you feeling well, Misuzu-san? If you're ill you shouldn't come to work, you know."

I felt my shoulders hunch defensively. Was I really that much of a wreck? Was it really at the point that a blind man could tell just by hearing my voice? I blew out a sigh. "No, I'm all right. I'm just a little tired today."

"I understand," the I&E head replied graciously even though it was clear he didn't believe me in the least. He motioned me closer. "Have a seat. I've been meaning to ask you about this for a little while now—how much do you know about chakra sensitivity?"

I blinked, surprised. "Chakra sensitivity?" That wasn't the direction I had been expecting this conversation to go at all.

"Yes." Naoto smiled at me. "This has been my suspicion for a little while now, but… are you perhaps chakra sensitive, Misuzu-san?"

"I…" I fumbled. "I mean, I never was formally classified, but…?"

"But you hear things? I assume you're an auditory sensor."

"How did you know?" I asked, surprised again. It seemed Naoto would never stop startling me with his untraceable leaps of logic.

"No particular reason beyond the fact that auditory sensors are the most common type." Naoto chuckled. "I'm an auditory sensor myself."

That explained his prescience around hallway corners. He was making up for his blindness with extra sensory skills.

"Auditory sensors are common?" I asked, weariness temporarily suspended by a nascent curiosity.

"I'd say they make up the majority of most sensitives. The other four sensing types are visual, olfactory, tactile, and gustatory. One for each of the five classical senses. Konoha has a large population, so I think we have a few of each kind here (1)."

Despite my hard efforts not to think of him, the image of Minato appeared in my mind. He was a sensor. Was he an auditory type too? He often heard us coming even when we were ages away. But there were also times when he would press his finger to the ground… (2)

"Oh, if that's the case, he might be both," Naoto replied when I asked. "It's not impossible to train oneself in multiple types of sensing. Or he may have been born with both abilities. Some people are like that. You could liken it to being ambidextrous."

I swallowed. Minato really was a born prodigy. And to a brother like that, I…

"It's a good combination. Auditory sense is excellent for identifying personal chakra signatures as well as reserve intensity and jutsu use, but tactile sensors far surpass auditory sensors in ability to determine the location and number of individuals. And unlike us hearing-types, their sensing accuracy isn't as hampered across long distances."

As was his way, Naoto continued to inform me about the particulars of chakra sensors in a mild, unpretentious voice. In a way it reminded me of the college lecturers the girl from Earth had known while she had been in school. It was helpful to know more about the nature of sensing abilities. But then some minutes later the urgent clamor of a shunshin at the door caused Naoto and me to pause. An anxious knock soon followed.

"Anzu, what is it?" Naoto asked as his younger half-sister burst in through the door. Though he couldn't see, she held up a scroll.

"It's here," she said heavily. "It's a notice from Missions Administration."

"Missions Administration?" I asked blankly. Naoto immediately brought up a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You probably haven't heard yet, Misuzu-san, but Missions Administration is going through all the noncombat divisions and snatching away members to bolster military operations," he explained to me. "Apparently casualties were unprecedented this rotation. Anzu, please go ahead and read it for me. It's a list of transfers, isn't it?"

Anzu broke the seal on the scroll and pulled it open. I watched in anticipatory silence as she scanned the missive furiously. Then she sighed.

"It's a list of transfers. Names and new positions," she announced despondently.

"How bad?"

"Thirteen in total," she informed.

Naoto's brow furrowed harshly and I did a wild calculation in my head. At present there were about twenty-two active members in I&E. Subtracting thirteen shinobi from that would leave Infiltration and Espionage operating with a skeleton crew of nine people. They were taking away over half the unit.

"That's absurd," Naoto replied with shock. "Do they intend on gutting all of Intel? I was expecting to lose people as well, but thirteen of us... Cryptography and Domestic Affairs lost thirty combined yesterday. At this rate Konoha will become completely unable to gather internal intelligence."

"Do you want to know who's leaving?" Anzu asked quietly.

Naoto let out a forceful exhale. "I'll have to sooner or later," he said. "Go ahead."

I sat by quietly as she began to read off the names. Fuyuji was leaving. Narumi and Sayo were also leaving. A great deal seemed to be moving into positions in the Ordnance Corps, but it looked like some were also being used to plug holes in the general platoons. Naoto's expression darkened with each name listed until he was perilously close to scowling.

"And Misuzu Namikaze," Anzu finished, looking at me with upset plain on her face. I started.

"And to whom are we losing our first apprentice in over half a decade?" Naoto asked with barely-concealed scorn. Anzu looked down at the scroll again.

"Transfer to fill an open position in the general platoons," she read. "Hereby reassigned to Team 7, commanded by the jounin Minato Namikaze."

* * *

A/N: Things might start to look a little more familiar from here. Don't worry, though; this is far from the last we'll see of Suzu's adventures in I&E.

As always, thanks for your patience and support! When I reread it, the chapter felt jarring, but I didn't quite know how to fix the flow. Please leave a review if you have any constructive feedback you'd like to offer.

Cheers,

Eiruiel

* * *

Notes:

1\. " _Konoha has a large population, so I think we have a few of each kind here."_

Auditory sensors are a dime-a-dozen; many clanless shinobi are hearing-type sensors. Tactile sensors are similar in frequency to auditory sensors, but are slightly less common. Olfactory sensors exist primarily in the Inuzuka clan; the same goes for visual sensors in the Uchiha and the Hyuuga clans. I do not think there are any natural-born taste-type sensors in Konoha, but there are a few shinobi in ANBU and T&I who have trained themselves in gustatory chakra sensing.

2\. _...there were also times when he would press his finger to the ground…_

You can actually see Minato detecting both the presence and number of enemy shinobi with this method in the first part of the _Kakashi Chronicles ~ Boys' Life on the Battlefield_ ~ episodes.

As a side note, Minato really likes people to believe that he was born "ambidextrous" (as Suzu automatically assumes he is). He feels it adds to his image of excellence. In reality, though, he's only a common hearing-type, just like 50% of all other chakra sensitives. He learned tactile sensing on his own in private and began passing himself off as a natural touch-type sensor around the age of twelve. You can get a sense of the young age his distorted self-image issues began, huh?


	13. Wreath of Briars

**Published: 8/2/2018**

* * *

 _Dear Suzu,_

 _How are you lately? It's been a while since I last wrote. Have you been worried about your good friend Jiraiya? Never fear. I am in good health, and I have better news than that besides: I've found them._

 _Genjutsu was the name of the game here. Fearsome genjutsu, too, the kind that retroactively messes with your memory. Turns out I've actually located them several times over in the past few months, but their wards were screwing me up. Half of conversations I'd had with those street rats probably weren't even real. Well, at least now I know I can still track something down when I need to. I was getting worried I was losing my touch._

 _The problem now is that I've been back and forth here so many times that the sentries are bound to recognize me. Getting in won't be easy, so at present I've retreated and have set up base in a city a few miles away. From here I'll have to plot my next move carefully._

 _I'll be sticking around a while and I've got a few friends here, so if you'd like to write back, you can give it a shot. Address it Kitaru of Washi-gai and it'll find its way to me. Make sure you tell me about how things with are going with you, too. Until then._

 _Your friend,_

 _Jiraiya_

* * *

The day before the transfers took effect was a miserable one. Over half the desks in the office had been stripped naked, and the colorful whiteboards and baubles I'd come to enjoy seeing had been wiped clean or removed. The snack table was empty of everything but a single package of senbei, and the room felt cold and empty.

As if trying to combat the cold atmosphere, we all clustered in the center of the room and sat close together. Those without chairs perched on desks or sat on the floor. At first we were all silent.

"When the war ends, I'll come back here," Fuyuji said quietly. We turned to look at him. "When these reassignments are over I'll transfer right back. Wait for me. Don't give my post away."

"We'll wait for you," Naoto replied softly. Though yesterday he had been shocked and angry, today the head of I&E was as unshakable as ever. His grip on his cane was loose and relaxed.

"We'll come back, too," a pair of Yamanaka cousins piped up. A flurry of promises to return rose from the group.

"So will we."

"And us! We'll come back!"

"Yeah. Wait for us, too, buchou."

"I will wait for all of you," Naoto vowed. But as he said it a terrible sadness began to color the air. Even if the promises were not empty, they were groundless. The ones who were leaving were going to the war. No one could really know if he would return.

"And you will come back, too," Oyuki said forcefully as she wrapped her arms around my shoulders. "You'll practice every day and study all the scrolls I gave you. You'll maintain your appearance even when the others sneer at you. And then you'll return here to finish your apprenticeship."

I swallowed thickly as others began to chime their agreement. Naoto turned his head and looked me in the eye—or seemed to look at me, anyway. Sometimes he made it so hard to remember he was blind.

"That's right, Misuzu-san. We'll wait for you especially. You chose to come to I&E when nobody else did. You'll always have a place here."

My lip began to quiver. "Thank you, Naoto-san," I replied.

* * *

"There is no place for you on this team."

Two weeks post the destruction of the Kannabi Bridge, Kakashi Hatake was half a month healed and half a month more broken. Everything about him was raw and jagged. He looked nothing like the man in the Earth-girl's memories; he was stiff, straight-backed, and his speech was clipped and harsh. He had not yet begun to tilt his hitai-ate in his signature way, either. White bandages covered his left eye instead.

"Kakashi," Minato admonished. He put a hand on my head, more brotherly than ever. He seemed content to pretend that our previous encounter had never happened and his acting reflected that admirably. I wished the same could have been said for me; I didn't know how to look him in the eye anymore.

"It's true, Sensei," Kakashi argued. "Even if she is your little sister there's no way she's capable of surviving on the front lines. Just look at her."

It had always been the case that Intel workers and other "indoors" shinobi were regarded with disdain for their clean and less-worn equipment. That was doubly true in a time of war. Field shinobi wore their dirt and grime nearly as proudly as they wore their scars.

I picked at the hem of my skirt with silent contemplation. Even though I was no longer under Fuyuji's and Oyuki's keen eyes, after Oyuki's speech yesterday, I couldn't find it in me to go back to wearing the blocky standard-cut uniform; instead, I continued to use the clothes I'd sewn with Fuyuji's help. Even so, it was not an ostentatious outfit by any means. It was a sturdy, functional skirt, full enough not to be constricting and short enough not to get in the way. Compared to many chuunin, who did not even wear the uniform, it was positively orthodox. Of the students on Team Minato, in fact, I was the only one wearing a vest.

"That's not true at all, Kakashi. Suzu has returned from the front lines twice now. She came from an excellent team and she trains all the time. I can guarantee her skills to you."

How was it that Minato could recommend me so heartily? Was it because of the incident with Jiraiya? Did he really mean it, or was he just trying to look after me? I couldn't say.

Evidently Kakashi couldn't decide either. He continued to eye me skeptically.

"Let's just give it a try for a little while, Kakashi," Rin interjected with a conciliatory gesture. "We haven't even seen her fight yet. If Sensei says so she must be capable."

Though her brow was still creased and heavy with sorrow she aimed a welcoming smile at me. Something in it reminded me of Anzu, and I felt a little more reassured, so I was able to smile back.

To his credit, Kakashi did not blow up at me on the first or even the second day of my reassignment. In fact, he did his utmost to ignore me entirely, and that was probably the best one could ask for considering the circumstances. But while one can ignore a teammate during individual exercises, it is impossible to ignore her during team drills, and the third day was the day that team drills began.

"What is wrong with you?" An angry exhale exploded through his nostrils as a ball dropped for the fourth time. "Academy students can do this exercise better than you!"

It was a very basic coordination task—nothing more than a group juggling exercise. There had been a time where Team 11 had done this activity one-handed, blindfolded, and with legs tied together. We probably could have done while half-unconscious, too. But with Team 7 it was different. They had a different rhythm and they were taller than I was used to my teammates being. The speed at which they threw was different, too; Rin pitched slow with minimal spin, similar to Yoshiya, but Kakashi's throws were straighter and faster than even Akihiko's most energetic tosses.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, willing the muscle memory of my previous squad to leave my body. "I'm still adjusting. Please be patient with me."

"Sensei," Kakashi called, ignoring me. "This is pointless. She's not coordinating. What can a kid like this contribute to Team 7? She's useless to us."

Even though Kakashi was still a kid himself, the venom in his voice made me flinch. Minato let out a sigh and attempted to diffuse the situation.

"That's not true, Kakashi," he repeated. "Suzu's a very skillful and competent kunoichi. Just give her a chance to learn your movements; she'll pick it up quickly. I told you she came from a good team, right? They were top of their year."

Kakashi snorted.

"It's true, Kakashi. By the time of their dissolution they had at least seven commendations."

This seemed to impress Rin slightly and she shot me a faintly admiring look. Kakashi, however, only cocked an eyebrow at me.

"The top team?" he asked coldly. "I've never heard of them. Where are they now?"

Silence rolled over the field. Minato's placating pose stiffened while Rin's hand slowly rose to cover her mouth. I lifted my eyes incredulously.

"Commendations mean nothing. What matters is results. If they couldn't even look after themselves, how could you claim their skills were worth anything?" Kakashi pressed.

"Kakashi!" Rin gasped.

"Kakashi, you know that's not how things work during war," Minato's voice immediately took on a hard edge. "You don't know anything about Team 11 or their circumstances. They also lost one of their members—you're speaking ill of the dead."

"That's unrelated," Kakashi contradicted. He turned a cold eye on me, and his glare felt like it could cut through flesh and bone. The sand-filled balls we had been juggling tumbled into the grass. "What disrespects the dead is trying shove an incompetent stranger into a comrade's place."

"Kakashi, let's just give it a little more time." Rin twisted her fingers together anxiously. "I'm sure Suzu-chan will find her footing soon. You don't need to bring her old team into this."

Grief often made people cruel. I knew this quite well; after being on a team with Akihiko, how couldn't I? But knowing that didn't soften Kakashi's hostility. Just as Akihiko's anger had still hurt me, Kakashi's words pried keenly at a wound that had only just begun to heal.

At this point Minato decided that team exercises needed a break. It was just as well; we weren't making any progress and it was only straining our nerves. Instead he decided that some round-robin sparring matches would be suitable to finish the day. Judging by the initial pair-ups of Suzu versus Rin and Kakashi versus Minato, he was probably looking to vent some of Kakashi's ire via some good, old-fashioned fistfighting.

Rin's weakest skill was taijutsu by far. She seemed to be very aware of this and spent most of our fight trying to keep me at a distance with thrown weapons. She certainly had a talent for bending trajectories; she kept me on my feet by throwing shuriken in my blind spots at every turn. I was heavily reminded of Yoshiya, who had done just the same thing in fights where ninjutsu had been barred.

Upon remembering this I found myself becoming incredibly sad. It was all so familiar that I could almost pretend that I was back with my old team, running around on the field with games of tag and hide-and-go-seek just an afternoon away. But after a while other memories began to stir in me, too; formations and strategies began to rise from the recesses of my mind. In those days I had relied on many methods to bypass Yoshiya's games of keep-away—feints, substitutions, clones…

I was no taijutsu prodigy, but I had spent the entirety of my childhood doing my best to keep up with one. I broke through, and Rin was so startled by my sudden aggression that I was actually able to catch her arm behind her back on my first approach.

"Wow," Rin exclaimed as we reset our position and made the seal of reconciliation with one another. "You're fast, Suzu-chan! Just like Sensei."

I was so startled that I laughed aloud. "I wish! It will take years before I can even begin to approach Minato-nii's speed. There's still a long way to go to catch up to him."

Rin smiled at me again. She was bright and cheerful, but something about her was grounded and practical, too. Warm, but still down-to-earth. She was very likable indeed.

"So are you taijutsu-focused?" Rin asked eagerly, seeming to forget all of the afternoon's slip-ups and frustrations. "Do you know any medical jutsu at all? You don't look like a ninjutsu type…"

I smiled and opened my mouth to tell her that no, I didn't know any iryou-ninjutsu, and that I had been my team's all-arounder, but in that moment there was sudden blip at the edge of my awareness. I sharpened to attention. I had felt that blip before. It was the same feeling as when we had been attacked—

It happened in a flash. I barely had the time to raise an arm to block, and the blow hit me so hard that it pushed me onto my knees. His kick was as fast as any of Akihiko's best strikes—faster, even. I let out a gasp as my shoulder creaked in its socket; the air displaced by his movement sent my braids flipping past my face and my skirt flaring out behind me.

"Kakashi!" Minato's and Rin's voices rose in simultaneous shock.

Kakashi bore down on me with silent, singular focus, like a hawk diving in to kill. He gave no indication that he had heard them; he only spun a kunai into his hand and made me the pinpoint of his gaze. His intention was clear. The next strike would be true, and he wanted to test if I could withstand it.

I flicked my eyes to the blade in his hand. His stare was unhesitating. That knife would gore me if I let it.

Flaring chakra in my limbs, I pivoted away as quickly as they could propel me; simultaneously, I drew from my kunai holster and brought it up to parry. The irregular weight of Minato's kunai fit itself into my palm, and I flipped it into a reverse grip, letting the flat of the blade rest against my forearm for a stronger deflection. I braced my back leg just in time to meet a titanic downward strike. I felt the soil beneath the soles of my sandals compress.

When Kakashi and I met eyes time seemed to stop for a long moment. I glimpsed something dark churning in his gaze. There was a strange, abyss-like despair in his eye, and something about it seemed desperate. Like if he could just hit me hard enough—if he could just strike this change into the ground—then everything that was wrong might become right again.

And then the moment passed. Minato's hand was fisted in the back of Kakashi's collar before the boy had time to put his feet on the ground. My cousin did not speak, but the force of his presence was enough to halt all hostilities. Kakashi landed in a stance of resignation.

"We're done for today," Minato said softly. He did not release Kakashi's shirt. "Suzu, Rin, good work. You're dismissed. Kakashi… we need to talk."

It became abundantly clear that their conversation would not start until we left, so I rose from my half-crouched position. When I stepped away the imprint of my feet was visible in the ground, and my limbs were still trembling from the force. I put a shaking hand on the back of my neck and began to walk away. I couldn't find it in me to look back at them as I left.

* * *

"Sensei," Akihiko called.

"Hmm?" Itsuki-sensei looked up—or down, rather—from the scroll he was reading. Usually when we did tree climbing and hanging exercises he would read. Though these training sessions required a fair amount of exertion on our parts they were so inconsequential to him that he probably could have slept through any of them.

"Are you in a good mood today?" my clanmate grinned, waving his fingers. Yoshiya perked up and gave Sensei a hopeful look.

"Maybe." Itsuki-sensei put on an expression of indifference, but even across the distance I could see the faint twitching of his lips. I giggled. He was in a good mood.

"Do something!" Akihiko took stock of my laughter and waved his arms exuberantly. "Do the leaf thing again!"

"Again? Aren't you tired of these party tricks by now?" Itsuki-sensei laughed and tucked his book into his belt. In contrast to his words, though, he was already drawing a stack of senbon from his pouch.

"We're not!" Yoshiya declared with conviction. He fixed Sensei with his best entreating eyes.

"It won't be long before you all will figure this out for yourselves, you know," Itsuki-sensei muttered, but obligingly fitted the long needles between his fingers. Then in a blink of an eye he was throwing, and between one breath and the next Konoha's emblem was proudly displayed on the trunk of the tree across from us. And then, as if in an afterthought, Itsuki-sensei spotted a falling leaf and threw a single needle to finish it off. It landed dead in the center of the mon, pinned and fluttering lightly.

"Man, you don't need ninjutsu to do that," Akihiko sighed admiringly.

"'Course not. If it did, a blockhead like you wouldn't even be able to dream of doing it," Yoshiya challenged from his tree branch. Akihiko's eyes lit up.

"Wanna bet, bandana boy?" he shot back. He began rolling up his sleeves.

I laughed and turned to share a look with Itsuki-sensei. But all of a sudden he was gone and the branches around me were empty. Startled, I fell silent, but there was nothing but birdsong in the air. It was just me and the late summer sunlight filtering through the canopy.

For a moment I could only hang from the tree in bewilderment. But then my mind caught up with the present and I remembered where I was. This was not Team 11's training grounds—this was only the village outskirts. I'd taken a meandering walk on my day off and ended up climbing a tree to enjoy the good weather. Between now and then I'd started dangling from a branch, and at some point had gotten caught up remembering a scene from the early days of my genin team.

How melancholy. Being back on a platoon was evidently bringing many past memories to the forefront of my mind. I let my arms drop and stared down at the verdant bush below me. How quickly those days had gone. We hadn't even been together as a team for half a year.

"Suzu-chan?"

I blinked. A faint choir of handbells had begun to ring in my ears, but they were far too distant to be anywhere near—

Rin was peering up at me from the forest floor. She was dressed in casual clothes and sturdy-looking gloves. She had a basket full of purple-flowered plants in one hand and a pair of gardening shears in the other.

"It is you, Suzu-chan!" she exclaimed as I regarded her with shock. She was so quiet. Her chakra had been suppressed so fully that I had thought she'd been ages away.

"Hello," I greeted rather dumbly. "I… what are you doing?"

"Me? I'm gathering plants for medicine. There's a lot of wolfsbane growing in this area, so I thought I'd help myself. There's milk thistles, too."

Something in my alternate Earth memories seemed to realize that wolfsbane was used in a lot of Chinese medicine, so I didn't feel wholly surprised to hear an iryou-nin was gathering some of it on her day off. Milk thistles, though, I knew nothing about.

"What are milk thistles used for?" I asked after I'd dropped from the tree and landed beside her. Rin gave me a thoughtful look.

"Well, they have a couple of uses, but right now I'm gathering them because there's been a rash of death cap poisonings at the hospital." She fixed me with a serious look. "Don't eat wild mushrooms if you're not one hundred percent confident in your identification. Milk thistles are only really good for supportive treatment—if they live, most of those people will require liver transplants."

That was slightly frightening. Not for me specifically—I didn't really eat mushrooms—but I knew several of my younger cousins liked mushroom hunting. I made a mental note to warn them when I went back home.

"Is it okay to store those with wolfsbane? Isn't it pretty poisonous?" I asked, looking with concern at her basket. Rin smiled and brought an empty cloth pouch out of her pocket.

"I have a separate bag for the milk thistles. I haven't started gathering them yet." As if sensing I'd come out here without a purpose, she smiled and suggested, "Why don't you come along? Learning the proper method for gathering plants can be pretty beneficial to everyone, not just medics. I'm sure it'll be useful for you."

I had no reason to refuse, so I fell into step with her and we began walking farther into the forest. We were silent for a few minutes—me because I didn't know what to say, she because she looked like she had something weighty on her mind.

"Suzu-chan…" she began after a long moment.

I looked at her attentively. "Yes?"

"Kakashi isn't a bad person, you know."

My eyebrows shot up. Were we jumping in from there?

"Really, he isn't!" she insisted, taking my look of surprise for doubt. "I mean it. He's… he's just upset that our old teammate is being replaced and he's taking his frustration out on you. It's not his fault… but it's not yours, either."

Her words brought a weak smile to my face. Of course she would say that. Who wouldn't? Could anyone have cause to believe I had known what would happen to Obito?

"Please don't think badly of him. I know it's hard because he's been so nasty to you, but…" Her brow was furrowed but her expression was earnest. I twisted my fingers together and looked away. Somehow I felt I didn't deserve to be looked at with such an honest gaze.

"It's okay. I believe you," I said, staring at my feet. Out of the corner of my eye, Rin looked both hopeful and skeptical at the same time, so forced myself to make eye contact. "No, really I do. I know Hatake-senpai isn't a bad person. He's just…" I searched for the words. "He's just not himself at the moment," I concluded.

A look of relief flooded Rin's face. "Is that so?" she asked with a big smile. "I'm glad."

I looked away again and began to feel that this conversation was painful. It was hard to be looked at with such geniality by someone who I had wronged so terribly. After all, Rin was a person, too, and she had been friends with Obito just as Kakashi had.

Rin's smiled faded a bit. A cluster of purple flowers was blooming at the edge of the path, so we stopped and began rifling through the grass.

"...I guess being on Team 7 really is hard for you, isn't it?" Rin asked softly a few moments later. "If… if my team was broken up and I was put on another squad, I would be miserable."

"That's…" I trailed, not knowing how to respond. That's true, I wanted to say. But it was also deserved. It seemed to me that cowards didn't deserve happy assignments and cheerful relationships. If I was unhappy because I was being bullied, or because I had been taken away from my apprenticeship, or because being on a platoon seemed to stir up my old traumas, it was only right. In the end none of those things could make up for what I hadn't done.

"I know it probably doesn't help to hear it from someone like me, but if you ever need help, or if you want someone to talk to, I'll definitely be here," Rin told me ardently. "Since we're on a team together now we should rely on each other. We can't take the place of your old friends, but… but if it's all right with you, I'd like to be a new friend."

"I…" I swallowed. Rin put down her plants, pulled off her gloves, and took my hands in hers.

"Okay?" she asked.

"Okay," I whispered back. "Thank you, Nohara-senpai."

Rin immediately blushed. "Don't call me senpai," she murmured, embarrassed. "Rin is fine."

"...Rin-san, then?" The familiar address bit savagely at my conscience, but how could one refuse to comply with such earnestness?

"Rin," Rin replied firmly. "Just Rin. Teammates are family, too, even when it doesn't seem like it."

* * *

A/N: This section of the original story is what I hated the most about the previous draft. I want to just wipe it from all conscious memory. To be honest, I don't have confidence that I can make it any better in the rewrite, either, but I should at least try. Perhaps in future drafts (rewrite the rewrite? if I decide to continue with fanfiction after the Suzu series finishes, it will probably happen eventually) I will just remove this arc altogether.


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